And You Will Know Me Still - Part 2
by theicemenace
Summary: Bucky Barnes was set adrift after the fall of SHIELD. Where will he go? How will he survive? Will he be able to exist in a world he's unprepared for? Or will he have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get get by? Some chapters will be closer to M and will be noted at the beginning of the chapter.
1. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

 **WARNING:** This chapter includes content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 24**

Steve lay the phone on the table so he could pack while he talked. "What about your friends, family? Don't they deserve to know?"

" _It's not required that you understand, Captain Rogers._ " The tone of Coulson's voice changed, became stern and unyielding. Even a bit dangerous. Steve remembered something Barton had once said about Coulson being one of the most dangerous men he'd ever known. His calm voice and laid-back demeanor drew people in, gave them a false sense of security by convincing them that he was as harmless as an accountant in the off season. " _Just that you comply with my request._ "

The man gave his life to rally the Avengers into a cohesive unit. In Steve's opinion, Barton was right in his assessment about Coulson. "Of course, _Director_. As long as _you_ understand that you can't keep it a secret forever. Someone with questionable ethics could announce it to the world out of spite or to cause another international incident."

Coulson pushed back from the desk and stood, effectively ending their conversation. " _That's_ _my_ _problem, Captain, and I'll deal with the repercussions when the time comes_."

The screen went blank, replaced by a set of coordinates. After a short map search, he located the helicarrier's position in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of British Columbia. Steve didn't waste time wondering what the boat was doing in Canadian airspace. He zipped up the bag and made another call. "It's Steve… I need another favor… As soon as possible… I'll tell you when you get here… Thanks."

Taking a sheet of paper from the old desk in the corner, Steve wrote a quick note, folded it in half and carried it out to the living room. Clint, Kiba, Sam and Santino were all that was left of their original group of nine, ten with Dooney.

Steve propped the note on the game console where he was certain at least one person would find it and climbed up to the roof. Less than a minute later he was again joined by Thor. The Asgardian always landed on one knee, and Steve wondered if it was done for dramatic effect or the sudden stop. "Thanks again, Thor. I wouldn't have called, but it's an emergency."

"It's never a bother, my friend. Where to?"

"The SHIELD helicarrier." He didn't give the coordinates. Mjölnir always knew the way. Steve hooked the duffle bag over his head and moved in next to Thor. The big man's arm went around his waist, the hammer hefted in his right hand.

"You are troubled, Steven."

Not wanting to talk about it, he exhaled loudly. "Maria's ill, Thor. She may be dying."

"Then we shall not waste time." He swung Mjölnir, and they were in the air.

~~O~~

Steve burst into the medical bay, threw his bag in a chair and headed for Maria's room. He was stopped in mid stride by the doctor, a man with Asian features and the name Nomura above his left pocket. "Whoa there, son. You need to put on a gown, gloves and a mask."

Glaring at the shorter man, Steve had the momentary urge to punch him in the face. "I don't _get_ sick. Let me see her."

Nomura didn't budge. "The precautions are for _her_ protection, Captain Rogers. Hill's immune system has been weakened by the infection. Even a common, everyday microorganism could be fatal." He motioned and a nurse joined them. "Show him where to suit up."

Reluctantly, Steve followed the woman down the hall. She gave him terse instructions in a tone that said "don't mess with me, buster", reminding him of his mother. Sarah Rogers had been a force to be reckoned with, stern with a kind and compassionate nature. After his father died, it was just the two of them against the world, and they'd made the best of it as a team.

A few minutes later, he was allowed into Maria's room. Standing at the door, Steve could hardly believe this was the same woman who had saved the lives of Natasha, Sam and himself against the superior forces of HYDRA. If it had been a part of her personality to play elaborate jokes, he would expect her to jump out of bed with an unearthly scream in an attempt to startle him. But she wasn't Barton. She indulged in teasing, but would never purposely hurt someone by letting them think she was dying for an epic laugh.

Maria's naturally tanned skin now had a sickly pallor making her hair appear even darker. Her left hand was elevated on a pillow. The doctor had performed surgery on the wound to drain the infection hoping to slow it down. If she lived, she would have to endure weeks of physical therapy. Small price to pay, in his opinion. The rest of what he'd been told about her condition went in one ear and out the other, aside from the part about her organs failing.

He pulled a chair up to the bed and gently held her right hand in both of his. "I'm here, Maria. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

There was no response, not even a twitch, as he watched her face for even the smallest glimmer of the woman he cared about more than he thought possible. The steady rhythm of the medical equipment soothed his nerves because it meant she was alive. "I'm not leaving until we can go together."

For the first time, Steve delved into the reasons he'd been drawn to Maria, and found himself comparing her to Peggy. Both women had strong personalities, an unwavering sense of justice and ethics, a deep well of compassion, loyalty, and the air of authority that put more than one man in his place, including himself. They were both incredibly beautiful, filled with passion, devotion and ambition. And above all that, both women could and did love with everything they had, though they seldom showed it to the world.

But was Maria a substitute for Peggy, the one woman who had ever shown him kindness even before his transformation? Who had seemed to like him as he was? Or had he fallen in love with Peggy _because_ of the kindness? Which brought to mind Maria and their forays into intimacy. He'd only kissed Peggy twice. Once before he climbed aboard Red Skull's plane, and when he visited her in the nursing home just a few weeks before she passed away.

The answer was no. Steve and Maria had worked together for nearly two years before their friendship began to change. With Peggy, there were specific instances he could point to that made him care for her as more than a friend. With Maria, it wasn't a series of moments where he could connect the dots. It was more of a long, slow slide that brought them to their current status, whatever it was. But was this love, infatuation or what Natasha called friends with benefits? If that's all this was, then why did he feel like someone had stabbed him in the heart when he was told she would most certainly die?

Still holding her hand, Steve closed his eyes, his other hand resting on her knee. Sometime later, the doctor came in and asked him to leave so they could perform yet another round of testing. He went down to the mess hall to get something to eat. He wasn't hungry, but starving himself wouldn't help Maria get better.

Taking a table in the corner where he could see the room, Steve set his tray down, unwrapped the silverware, and lay the napkin across his lap. He drained his coffee cup and set it out of the way. Picking up his fork, he used it to push the mashed potatoes around on the plate, mixing them with the corn and green bean medley. When he got bored with that, he plucked the roll from its plate and ripped it to pieces.

Steve's stomach grumbled again. Annoyed, he went back to poking his food with the fork. A shadow fell over him and a hand came into view holding a carafe. His cup was refilled and the carafe set on the table. "Thanks."

His benefactor pulled out the chair opposite and joined him uninvited. "You're welcome."

Steve stopped with the cup halfway to his mouth at the sound of a familiar voice. He looked up into the eyes of Phil Coulson, whom, until this morning, he'd thought was dead. "Look good for a dead man."

A slight smile turned up the corners of Coulson's mouth. "Ditto."

As much as he wanted an explanation, Steve wanted even more to be left alone. Then he thought, _might as well make the most of the situation_. "Why let everyone think you're dead?"

"Wasn't my decision. The secrecy _or_ the resurrection."

"Fury." Steve sipped from his coffee, eyes on his plate. "Seems to be a common theme with him. He's out of the picture for the time being. What's stopping you from coming clean?"

Coulson crossed his knees, one hand toying with his cup. "Circumstances dictate that this particular data be shared only on a case-by-case basis."

Picking up his fork, Steve went back to pushing his now cold food back and forth across the plate. "The need-to-know defense is a crock and you know it."

"One day in the not so distant future, circumstances will come into play that hopefully will mitigate the animosity displayed by my friends and colleagues after the big reveal." Coulson leaned forward, hands clasped together on the table. "You're not an agent of SHIELD, Steve. I can't give you orders. I'm asking you as a friend to keep this to yourself."

Steve hesitated then reluctantly agreed. In a small fit of annoyance and frustration, he pushed the tray to the side a little too hard and it fell to the floor with a crash. He and Coulson crouched to pick up the pieces of broken glass, piling them on the tray.

"Ow!" Blood welled up bright red against the fair skin of Coulson's thumb. Steve passed him a napkin and Coulson pressed it to the wound. "Clumsy of me. Too bad I don't have your super-fast healing powers."

Without a word of good-bye, Coulson walked away. At the mess hall entrance, he peeked under the napkin. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he threw the bloody napkin in the trash.

Picking up the tray, Steve carried it to the pass-through, and stood there holding it as Coulson's words penetrated the worry in his brain, muttering to himself, "Super-fast healing powers."

An idea energized Steve, hope growing with every second. He shoved the tray through the opening and returned to the medical bay at a run, skidding to a stop just inside the entrance. The whine of the heart monitor's steady tone was annoying and frightening at the same time.

Maria's room was filled almost to capacity with doctors and nurses working frantically to save her life. The older doctor shouted the word everyone dreaded hearing when a loved one was in critical condition, "Clear!"

It was followed by a thunk. Maria's body arched off the bed and relaxed. Thankfully, her heart started beating again, the steady beep of the monitor once more giving him hope to go with that inadvertently provided by Coulson. Or had it? Coulson always seemed to be several steps ahead of everyone else.

The doctor's face was grave as he approached Steve. "She's stable for now, but I don't know how much longer she'll last. Each time it happens, she doesn't rebound to her previous condition. We need a miracle, Captain Rogers."

For the first time since he found out about Maria's illness, Steve smiled. "I might be able to provide that miracle, doctor."

 **Brooklyn**

Angrily pacing the length of the attic, Clint stabbed the end key on his phone, wishing it was an old school phone so he could slam the receiver down. Dooney had said he would call with the results of the tests ordered by his doctor, but he'd yet to hear from the man and he wasn't answering the phone. His hope was that his friend had gotten good news and was still celebrating. He didn't even want to think about the alternative.

Throwing himself down on the bed, Clint stared at the slanted ceiling. He needed sleep, but was too antsy to close his eyes. A few minutes later, he rolled out of bed, pulled his shoes on and jogged down to the first floor. Santino and Sam were playing video games while Kiba read a book.

Sam looked up and Clint just held out his hand. The keys to the SUV flew through the air, and Clint caught them. When Rogers had taken off to be with Hill, he'd left Clint in charge. Not that he wanted the job, but someone had to do it.

For a brief moment, Clint debated with himself whether to tell Kiba what he suspected or keep his trap shut. In the end, he stayed silent. His colleagues also didn't ask where he was going. Good. That meant he wouldn't have to lie.

~~O~~

The drive over to Dooney's apartment only took a few minutes, and soon, he was knocking on the door of apartment 10G. The only response was silence. Using his lock picking skills, he let himself in.

Scanning left to right, Clint surveyed the combination living room, dining room and kitchen. The whole place had been trashed. Not broken, but thrown around, like someone had a tantrum and didn't want a big mess to clean up. "Dooney? You here?" he called out. "Yo, Doon!"

The laundry room and kitchen were was neatly arranged, nothing out of place. Same with the bathroom. The door to the second bedroom was open, and again, nothing had been disturbed. The computer was turned off and unplugged, which was odd. Dooney did most of his business over the Internet. He left it on 24/7 to have ready access. In the corner, a treadmill sat idle, clothing thrown over it.

That left the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was ajar, and as he approached, Clint listened for signs that his friend was about to spring a trap. Nothing. Clint put one hand up and slowly pushed the door open. Alarms went off in his head as he surveyed the scene in a single glance.

Dooney lay face down on the bed, head turned to the side, one arm hanging off, the knuckles touching the floor. On the bedside table with the lamp, a box of tissues, a photo of Dooney as a teen with his mother and his cell phone were a number of prescription pill bottles, an empty water bottle and a folded sheet of paper with Clint and Natasha's names on it. One of the pill bottles was empty, and beside it, another unlabeled bottle lay on its side, also empty.

Clint gave his friend a shake. "Dooney?"

There was no response. Clint pressed two fingers under Dooney's jaw and was relieved to feel a faint pulse, and see his chest moving shallowly. He rolled Dooney onto his back and sat him up, slapping his face.

Taking out his phone, Clint dialed 9-1-1, gave the address and apartment number. "Male Caucasian, approximately thirty-seven, six-two, weight one-eighty, recently diagnosed with leukemia. Only know allergy is ragweed. Possible accidental overdose. Pulse thready, respiration shallow."

He didn't wait for the operator to acknowledge his rapid-fire speech. Just hit end and tossed the phone on the bed. Again, he slapped Dooney on the cheeks and was rewarded with a weak moan. "Hey! Hey, hey, Duane! Wake up, pal. Wake up! It's Clint. Can you hear me? Dooney!"

His friend moaned again, turning his head to get away from Clint's slaps.

"C'mon, pal! Open your eyes. Look at me!" Grasping Dooney's head in both hands, he got up in his face. Dooney's eyes opened and closed. With a huff of annoyance, Clint put his arm around him and lifted. The difference in their heights made it awkward as he literally dragged Dooney into the bathroom and set him on the floor in front of the toilet. Time was of the essence. Clint had to get the pills out of his stomach.

Grabbing Dooney by his long hair, he bent his head back. With the other hand, he pried the man's mouth open, took a deep breath and stuck a finger down his throat. Dooney gagged, and Clint was just able to get him over the toilet. The pills couldn't have been in his stomach long because most were still whole.

Dooney groaned when Clint pulled his head back again. Good. That meant he was waking up. Time to complete the process.

Picking Dooney up under his arms, Clint dragged him into the shower and propped him in the corner. He stepped out and reached in to turn on the cold water. It hit him in the chest, splashing his face and soaking him to the skin within seconds.

Dooney came to so fast, he almost fell over. His arms and knees came up, and he turned into the corner in an attempt to protect himself from the assault. "Argh! Wah-do- _fuh_! Get that s*** outa m' face ya sonab****!"

"Not till you wake up."

"S***! Ima 'wake! Now shut it _off_!" Clint relented, and Dooney slowly uncurled, prepared to duck and cover again if need be. He rubbed the water out of his eyes, blinking and staring blearily at his surroundings. "Clint? Wah you doin' 'ere?"

"Saving your sorry ass. Not that you deserve it, but Laura would tear me a new one if I didn't." Clint grabbed a towel and knelt next to Dooney, using it to wipe his face and hair. Dooney shifted around trying to get away, but his strength was no match for Clint's in his present condition. Clint grabbed a cup, filled it from the tap and held it to Dooney's mouth so he could take a drink. He set the cup out of the way and climbed into the shower to help his friend out of his clothes, leaving them in a soggy mess in the corner. With a great deal of physical encouragement, he helped Dooney stand. "C'mon. We gotta get you dressed."

Dooney staggered and stumbled into the bedroom, Clint the only thing keeping him on his feet. Clint set him on the side of the bed and handed him a towel. "Dry off while I get you some clothes." He went into the walk-in closet and came back with pajama pants and a t-shirt. Dooney was half-heartedly rubbing his hair with the towel. Clint took the towel and vigorously rubbed Dooney's hair, then used it to dry his back and legs.

"Wouldn't need t' change if ya didn't try t' _drown_ me."

"Yeah, well it wouldn't've been _my_ first choice either." As if Dooney were a child, he put the shirt over his head and held open an arm hole. "Put your arm in there… Now the other one." Down on one knee, Clint held the pants out. "Put your feet in there… Both of them! Now stand."

Clint pulled the pants up to Dooney's waist, but when he tried to tie the drawstring, Dooney pushed his hands away. "Ima big boy. I c'n dress m'self, y'know."

"You're sure not _acting_ like a big boy." Clint held out a pair of socks and dropped slippers in front of his friend. Just as Dooney was shoving his feet into the slippers, someone pounded on the front door.

" _NYPD_! _Open the door_!"

Clint got into Dooney's face, one finger pointed at him. "That's the cops and the EMTs. I'm gonna let 'em in. When the EMTs ask you what happened, tell them you had a bad night and got confused about your meds. Other than that, name, rank, serial number only. Got it? Don't. Volunteer. _Anything_." His friend nodded and looked away, guilt and shame in his expression as he reached for the comb on his bedside table. Clint slapped him on the cheek again, this time with fondness. "Good boy."

Clint pocketed the paper and unlabeled bottle from the bedside table on the way to let the cops in. He had a hunch what was in the note, and didn't want anyone to see it.

 **Thirty Minutes Later**

The paramedics wheeled the stretcher carrying Dooney out into the hall. The cop taking Clint's statement pointed over his shoulder. "Wanna ride along? We can finish this at the hospital."

"I'll drive myself. And I've told you all I know." Clint gave his phone number. "If you have any more questions, call."

"Thanks, Mr. York. If you hadn't been here, your friend wouldn't've made it. He's lucky you stopped by." The cop turned and followed his partner down the hall to the freight elevator and rode down with the paramedics and their patient.

When the cop asked his name, he'd automatically given one of his AKAs that hadn't been in the SHIELD database, Ryland York. It was the one alternate ID he carried on him at all times when not on a mission.

He closed the door and went to sit on the sofa with a silent groan. The paper in his pocket crinkled, reminding him of its presence. Taking it out, he hesitated before opening and reading what was written there. Dooney had surprisingly neat handwriting, and there were only two lines.

 _For in that sleep of death what dreams may come  
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause._

Shaking his head, Clint chuckled humorlessly. Leave it to his friend to check out with a quote from _Hamlet_. He shoved the note back in his pocket. For Dooney's sake, Clint wouldn't tell Natasha about the note or what was in it. If he could get away with it, he wouldn't mention the trip to the hospital either.

Taking out his phone, he sent a text to Santino to let him know he wouldn't be getting the SUV back for a while, then turned the phone off. After a short search, he located Dooney's keys, locked the front door as he left and ran down the stairs to the underground garage. Though he was tempted to take the Porsche, he stuck with the one he came in. Gunning the motor, he pulled into traffic, and for once, obeyed all the traffic laws.

At the hospital, he drove round to the incinerator and used it to dispose of the bottle and the note. In the parking lot, Clint took the first space he came to, locked up and jogged to the emergency entrance. The doctors would likely keep Dooney at least one night. Seventy-two hours minimum if they suspected he'd overdosed on purpose. Secretly, he thought it would do Dooney good to spend a couple days in the psych ward though he wouldn't say so out loud.

The ER was like most, filled with people, a swirling mass of humanity constantly moving, alternating between talking, yelling, crying and sullen silences in which they stared at their mobile devices. Behind the reception desk sat a woman in her thirties, hair pulled back into a ponytail and eyes glued to the computer screen. She was a master at multi-tasking, fielding phone calls, notating charts and answering questions.

"Excuse me…"

A clipboard and pen were pushed across the counter. "Fill this out and return it with a picture ID and your insurance card."

"I'm here to see a patient. Duane Nelson. He was brought in about forty minutes ago."

The woman didn't even look up. Her fingers flew over the computer keys and stopped. "He's in bed six, through that door, turn right. The doctor's with him now."

Clint didn't get a chance to thank her because the phone rang again. The door opened as he approached and closed behind him. Turning right, he located Dooney's bed. His friend was awake and balking at being "manhandled" by the orderly while the nurse made notes and the doctor ordered tests.

"Duane?"

The nurse pulled the curtain back, peering at him through her glasses. "Only family is allowed in here."

Scowling, Clint pointed at the tablet she carried. "I'm his next of kin. Clint Barton."

She scrolled through Dooney's records, shaking her head. "We show next of kin as Laura Hagen of Columbia, Washington."

He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, not in a mood to be put off. "She's in Columbia, Washington. It'll take hours for her to get here, if she can come."

The woman would've continued the argument, but they were interrupted by Dooney. "'S'okay. Let him in."

Another woman stood over Dooney, shining a flashlight in his eyes. "You're very lucky, Mr. Nelson. If you hadn't vomited the drugs, you'd've died in spite of our best efforts. We've given you Naloxone to neutralize the remaining drugs in your system. You should be back to normal in a few days. The good news is that it didn't exacerbate the leukemia."

Dooney declined to respond to the veiled inquiry and reference to his condition. "When can I go home, doc?"

The doctor took the tablet from the nurse, made a few notes and handed it back. "Not for at least forty-eight hours, I'm afraid. I'm not recommending a psych eval, though I do suggest you seek counseling." The doctor gave the men a bland smile and left to tend to other patients with the nurse in tow.

Dooney crossed his arms, glaring at Clint.

~~O~~

Using ASL, Clint signed _This really should be coming from Laura. She's better at it than I am_. Facing away from Dooney, he rubbed the back of his neck, one of his tells for emotional distress. He swung around to face him, angrily signing _What the hell were you thinking?_

Careful of the heart monitor, IV and oxygen sensor, Dooney huffed at his friend. _You're semi-intelligent. Figure it out._

 _There's no cure? Greatly shortened life expectancy?_

Dooney looked away from Clint's penetrating gaze. Did he teach that look to Laura or did she teach it to him? He always wondered. _Waited too long, I guess._

 _Still, that was a stupid, stupid,_ _stupid_ _thing to do, Duane._ Clint slammed his hands against the foot of the bed making it shake.

 _Was it stupid to want to end it now before the pain gets so bad I can't even get out of bed unless I'm mainlining oxy? To not want my friends have to watch me waste away and lose what little brains and dignity I have?_

Clint slammed the footboard once more, stepping back as if to distance himself from his raging emotions. Not as easy as it sounds. Suddenly, Clint was as close to getting in his face as he could with the medical equipment in the way.

 _What you don't get and never did is that suicide is a selfish act. It's the_ _ultimate_ _selfish act. You think killing yourself ends the pain? It doesn't._ Clint paced away and faced him again. _It transfers the pain to the ones who care about you and continue to live long after you're gone. Death ends your_ _life_ _. Not the relationships you have with others._

 _Have it your way. My solution sucked._ Dooney rubbed the center of his forehead. _I'm_ _tired_ _, Clint. Tired of raging against the dying of the light. It's the quality of what little time I have left that was my motivation. If you could read my mind, you'd understand. I don't_ _want_ _to go, but this is life, Clint. No one gets out alive. The big question on everyone's mind is when, and I wanted to choose the time and place. Was that really too much to ask?_

His pacing took him to the end of the bed again where he leaned on the footboard, his head hanging down. _The doctor's sure nothing can be done?_

Dooney scoffed. _I made him do the tests three ****** times just to be sure. If treatment had started right away, there might've been a chance. But now, all he can do is relieve the symptoms._

 _What about Kiba? Did you stop to think what this would do to her?_

 _Don't be more of an ass than you have to be, Clint. We had two nights together. That's_ _all_ _._ He was lying through his teeth, and thought it was for the best. _Don't tell them what happened. Especially not Nat._ Clint got that stubborn set in his eyes. _I mean it. Not a word._

 _The team's going to want to know where you've been all this time._

His friend was right. The team deserved to at least know he was in the hospital. _Tell them I had a fall, or a seizure. Anything but the truth._ Shaking his head, Dooney mused, _It's too bad one of your SHIELD doctors can't cook up a cure_.

With those words, Clint stood up to his full height, and now the light in his eyes was different. Wide and intense without the anger he'd displayed a few moments ago. He had an idea. Waving distractedly, Clint pulled the curtain aside. "I'll be back. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Remembering the story Steve had told of the day he met Dr. Erskine, Dooney chuckled, blatantly stealing Steve's line. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with _you_."

The last thing he saw was Clint's hand flipping him off.

~~O~~

On his way back to the car, Clint dialed a number from memory. The owner answered on the third ring.

" _Banner_."

"Hey, doc. Barton here." Clint heard a huff of annoyance, or was that his imagination? Nope. He heard it.

" _What can I do for you_ _this_ _time, Agent Barton_?"

Clint opened the door to the SUV and got behind the wheel. "What do you know about genetics?"

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 25

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **25**

 **Brooklyn**

Dooney snapped out of a light doze, uncertain what woke him. He yawned and rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other found the controls by feel and turned on the light to check the time. Dinner would be served soon, probably something just as unimaginative as breakfast and lunch.

He turned on the television, flipping quickly through the channels, stopping on the same movie he and Kiba had started to watch the other night. It had been one of the worst _and_ the best nights he'd had in a while. Worst, because he had to tell someone he was starting to care for about the leukemia. Best because he'd spent the next two nights with Kiba, something he'd wanted since they first met. She was the first woman in a long time to resist his charms. In general, not just for sex. The women-and some of the men-of New York seemed to find his southern accent and manners especially charismatic. He didn't get it, but, hey, it worked, even on Rosalie.

When he and Rosalie first started seeing each other, it was a convenience. Their schedules were such that neither had time or energy to put into a committed relationship. So, a couple times a month, they got together, drank some wine, had dinner, and spent the night getting rid of the stress that had built up since the last time. After a while, she started hinting at wanting something deeper and long-term. He'd put her off in part because being in a long term relationship meant he would have to tell her what he really did for a living. Rosalie eventually stopped mentioning moving in, and things settled back into their routine.

Then, a little over a month ago, she called to tell him it was over, that she'd met someone and wanted to explore a relationship with him. He missed her, but not as much as he thought he would or should. Truth was he could've fought for her, told her what he thought she wanted to hear, but couldn't do it knowing he wouldn't be around for much longer. And he didn't love her.

Then Kiba came along with her delightfully quirky sense of humor, strong convictions, and compassion. And the ability to resist every line he threw at her, old or new. He wasn't intrigued by her just because she rejected him-he could see in her eyes that she was attracted to him as well. With her, he had to change tactics. Instead of hustling her off to bed, his usual MO, he started talking to her about any subject that came up and found that, in addition to being beautiful, she had an incredible intelligence.

And he had to go and screw it up by trying to take himself out of the equation. Clint was right. It _was_ a selfish thing to do, taking his life without a thought to how the only family he had would feel at the abruptness of his death. At not giving anyone time to prepare. Dooney didn't count Kiba in the ranks-they hadn't known each other long enough, but she was there, nonetheless.

The door opened and he muted the television while the nurse brought in his meal, his head coming around at the sound of a familiar voice. "Hey."

Kiba was standing in the doorway, rocking on her toes, hands shoved into the pockets of her vest.

"Hey. C'mon in."

She closed the door and came to stand next to the bed. "You had dinner yet?"

He made a face. "Any moment now, a nurse with cold hands and a surly attitude will be coming through that door with a meal that's more fitting for a prisoner."

The bag over her shoulder thumped on the bed. Kiba opened it and took out a brown bag from which the most enticing scent emanated. Bacon cheeseburger with onions and a kosher dill. "In that case, I brought you some contraband."

Dooney opened the bag and pulled out the paper and foil wrapper. "How'd you know?"

"Are you kidding? We've practically been living together for the last couple of weeks. Every time we go to that diner," she nodded at the enormous burger in his hands, "that's what you order. A heart attack on a plate."

He peered into the bag. "No fries?"

Hitching one hip onto the bed next to his knee, she poked him in the chest. "Ungrateful much?"

"Kidding." He tore the paper around the pickle. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Barton's easy to read once you know where to look."

"Yeah. Don't mention it though. He likes to think he's mysterious and enigmatic. That no one ever really knows where they stand with him. Mr. Spock with arrows."

"Well, he ran out like his ass was on fire and was pissed as hell when he got back. Went into the den and closed the door. We could hear him talking, but he didn't come out for hours." Using the first two fingers of her left hand, Kiba "walked" them up his leg. "So, I let my fingers do the walking around the Internet and found your name on the patient list for this place."

To avoid her penetrating gaze, Dooney asked for the water carafe that was just out of reach. Kiba poured him a glass and handed it over. He drank half and set the glass beside his burger. "Just don't get caught strolling through people's medical records."

She looked down at her lap, arms crossed and shrugged. "I could only get basic info. Just that you were here and your room number. You're not in ICU so it couldn't've been too bad."

Dooney had a split second of personal debate then smiled and lied, sort of. "I had a bad couple of days and got a little confused about my meds. Good thing Clint came to check on me."

~~O~~

 _He just lied to me_ , thought Kiba. _Fair's fair though. I lied to him. He feels bad enough. Why should I add to it?_

"You want part of this, Kiba? My stomach's not quite up to it."

She picked up the burger and took a bite, almost choking when he snorted. "What?"

"Most people would just take the part I haven't eaten off of."

She grabbed a few of the napkins and set them on the rolling table, using the last one to cover her mouth while she coughed. He passed her the glass of water, and she took a few small sips. When she could speak without spitting food, she smirked. "I think we're past that point, considering those two nights we spent together."

His smile warmed her in places that had been cold for a long time. "We _did_ have a good time, didn't we?"

The nurse came in, saw the burger on the table, shook her head and left. She was back a few minutes later with medication. Uttering not a whimper of protest, he took the pills with water. When the nurse had gone, Dooney's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "The den? He's not sleepin' with _Rogers_ , is he?"

Chuckling, Kiba shook her head, making a slightly obscene gesture with her hands. "Their doors don't swing that way. 'Sides Rogers and Hill are creating ripples in the fabric of time and space together. And a _ménage à trois_ is another door neither of them have ever been through." She took another bite of the burger, chewed and swallowed, then added, "Rogers took off too. Left a note saying he had some personal business out of town, but that he'd be back."

She gathered the trash and threw it out, washed her hands and came back to the bed. "How long are you in for?"

"Couple more days." One shoulder twitched in a small shrug. "Just a precaution."

Sitting on the bed again, close enough to brush her fingers through his hair, Kiba tilted her head to the side. "Come back to the brownstone when you get out. That way, we can keep an eye on you till you're back on your feet. There's plenty of room."

Dooney's eyes got a thoughtful glaze in them, then he shook his head. "I've imposed too much as it is."

"You helped Barton make Newcomb as HYDRA. That's hardly an imposition. And we like having you around."

"We?" he asked with a smile. His cell phone vibrated on the table before she could answer. He checked the screen, huffed and set it in the drawer. "I have a business that needs my attention. And before you ask, no, I can't delegate. I'm the only employee."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Taking hold of his hand, Kiba turned to face the door with his arm around her shoulders, and sat next to him. Dooney scooted over to give her room, holding her close and planting a small kiss on her temple. Her shoes hit the floor and her legs came up to rest next to his. She turned to offer her lips and he wasted no time accepting. With a sigh, they settled in to watch the rest of the movie they started a few days ago.

 **The Helicarrier**

"Two words, doctor: universal donor," Steve stated succinctly.

Dr. Nomura stared at him for what seemed a long time, and Steve could see the wheels turning. He paced in the confines of his office, thumb and forefinger pulling at his lip. Then, he stopped and nodded. "I see where you're going with this and you're right. It could work, provided the two of you are compatible."

Steve followed Nomura down the hall to the phlebotomy lab. The tech met them just inside the door. "Antonio, I need you to crossmatch Captain Rogers' blood with Commander Hill's. This takes priority. Everything else can wait." He picked up a tablet. "I've ordered tests for both of them. Call in whomever you need to assist then message me when the results are in."

"Of course, doctor." Antonio went to gather everything he needed, working quickly and efficiently.

To Nomura, Steve said, "If this works, how much will you need?"

"We'll start with a pint. See how it goes. For most people, I wouldn't even consider allowing a donation of more than that, but you're a special case, Captain Rogers."

Steve sat in the chair as directed by Antonio while Nomura hustled down the hall out of sight.

 **Avengers HQ**

 **Stark Plaza**

 **Manhattan**

Bruce was alone in the lab for a change. Then, a door opened followed by familiar footsteps thundering down the stairs. "Doc?"

"Over here." Holding in a sigh, Bruce put on a smile as Barton joined him. He held up a flat, clear rectangle that looked like glass, a data card.

"Got everything you asked for." He took several vials of blood from his pocket and laid them on the table.

Taking the data card, Bruce tapped commands into the mainframe, turned to face an open area surrounded by tables filled with equipment, and gave a flick of the wrist. A holographic display appeared. Then, a thought occurred to him. "How'd you get the blood? _Please_ tell me you didn't draw it yourself."

"Course I didn't."

Exhaling in relief, Bruce examined the DNA and medical information displayed. "Good."

Barton waved a hand carelessly. "I broke into the hospital's lab and took it." Bruce's mouth dropped open, though knowing Barton as well as he did, he shouldn't be surprised. "How else were we going to get it? Didn't want to get Dooney's hopes up."

"Good idea." Noise in the other room put Barton on alert though Bruce knew it was only Helen Cho setting up her equipment. "Relax. We'll know something in a few days."

Standing opposite Bruce with his arms crossed, Barton's eyes glazed over at the amount of information moving and changing in air between them. "Will you be using one of those, what do they call them? Retro something?"

"A retrovirus? That's up to Helen." He made a few adjustments to one of the blocks of data, his eyes flickering between it and Barton, seeing his confusion at the obviously unfamiliar term. " _Retroviridae_ is a family of enveloped viruses that replicate in a host cell through the process of reverse transcription. A retrovirus is a single-stranded positive sense RNA virus with a DNA intermediate and, as an obligate parasite, targets a host cell. Once inside the host cell cytoplasm, the virus uses its own reverse transcriptase enzyme to produce DNA from its RNA genome, the reverse of the usual pattern…"

Barton dropped into a chair and swiveled back and forth. "So how's it work?"

"The virus adheres the changes to the recipient's DNA, they become part of it, like grafting skin. What we're going to do is break down your friend's DNA one chromosome at a time to find the one that triggered the leukemia. If he's missing something that would've kept it in check, we add it. If he has that piece of the puzzle, but it's dormant, we activate it."

"Like a light switch. If he has one, you make sure all the wires are connected and flip it. If he doesn't, you install one _then_ you flip it. Easy-peasy."

Bruce took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He put them back on to peer at Barton with a bit more respect. Going to the computer, he inserted the data card into the docking port, realizing that his teammate was smarter than he wanted people to think. He'd let him have that illusion for a while longer, outing him at just the right moment. "A simplistic description of the process, and not as, uh, easy-peasy as it sounds, Agent Barton."

Helen Cho joined them, giving Barton an annoyed glance, which he returned with the smallest smirk and an eyebrow wiggle. Bruce didn't know what had caused the ill feeling between them, though it was rumored that she'd asked him out on several occasions and he turned her down. Politely. Whenever the subject came up, Barton said he didn't have a girlfriend. However, prior to each mission, he made a phone call just before wheels up. Tony had tried to trace it more than once without success. In order to find out to whom the archer was speaking, they'd have to wait for him to volunteer the information.

Bruce and Helen got to work, ignoring Barton for the time being. Or rather they tried to. Barton alternated between peering over Helen's and Bruce's shoulders, and in between, asked question after question, which they felt obliged to answer. Eventually, they both had enough. Helen huffed, her dark eyes filled with frustration, bordering on anger. She mouthed, _Do something_ to Bruce.

He nodded. "Agent Barton?"

"Yeah?"

Motioning to the archer, he leaned close, keeping his voice low. "This work requires the utmost concentration. One little mistake and it either won't work at all, or it could kill, uh…"

"Duane Nelson. Goes by Dooney." Barton hurriedly gathered his things together and stuffed them into his backpack. "I'd like to stay and chat, doc, but I've gotta get back to Brooklyn. Keep me in the loop."

He jogged up the stairs and into the lift. As soon as the doors closed, Helen exhaled loudly. "I thought he'd _never_ leave. How can you be so calm around him?"

Chuckling, Bruce entered information into the hologram. "He's an acquired taste, I'll give you that. Always pushing the boundaries, seeing how far he can go before you call him on it. It's a game for him."

"I know. It's just that every time I'm around him, he makes me want to… grrr!"

"Pull your hair out?" With a flick of his wrist, he sent a block of information over to his colleague. She enlarged the file, reading while making notes. One image displayed a double helix spinning slowly and was color coded by element. Here and there, certain areas were highlighted and flashing. "Helen?"

The dark haired geneticist came around to Bruce's side. "I see it. If we follow that to here," she pointed with the stylus, "it should lead us to the missing or dormant chromosomes."

They worked in silence for a while, then Helen handed him a bottle of water. "Don't tell him I said this. As aggravating as he is, Agent Barton did present us with an interesting case."

Bruce twisted off the bottle's top, using the hand holding it to point at her. "That's what makes putting up with him worth the time. He's also one of the best people to have at your side in a fight."

"How does he do it? Keep up with the other Avengers, I mean. You, Thor, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff, you have all these special powers, and all he has is…"

"Sarcasm and a bow and arrow?" Bruce returned to work, speaking over his shoulder. "You're not the first to underestimate Barton, and won't be the last. The main thing is not to let him know he's getting on your nerves." He let her think it over a while then, "Now you want to know why he hangs out with superheroes." He walked around the opposite side of the hologram, and Bruce responded with a shrug and a look of pride in his teammate. "He does it because it's his job."

 **The Helicarrier**

The staff came in to change the bedding and give Maria a sponge bath while Steve walked down to the mess hall for more coffee. Most people drank it for the kick, but Steve wasn't affected by the stimulant. He drank it because he liked it. And it gave him something to do. Two agents were talking about Coulson, and by their tone, he could tell they hadn't known he was still alive either.

As more and more agents made the discovery on their own or were let in on the secret, those who didn't know of Coulson's current status were members of an exclusive club. Though he'd given his word not to say anything, especially to his teammates, Steve was tempted to do just that. They were called the Avengers for a reason. Clint and Natasha would feel the highest sense of betrayal. More than a few stories had been told to the newest recruits painting the trio as legends. Coulson had been their handler and sometime partner for ops. If they were to find out that Coulson and Fury had been lying to them for more than two years, there would be hell to pay. The partners and best friends wouldn't stop until they got the answers they were looking for no matter how long it took or who got in their way.

Steve finished his coffee, set the mug in the pass-through and returned to the medical bay. Nomura and the nurse were in Maria's room. A bag of blood hung on the IV pole, a quarter of its contents already inside her veins. He tapped on the window and Nomura joined him. "I take it we're compatible."

"Very much so, Captain Rogers. She's tolerating it better than we could've hoped." He took Steve by the arm, leading him into the room. The nurse left them alone, closing the door behind her. "Increasing her circulation would help immensely."

"How do we do that?"

The doctor handed him a small bottle of lotion. "Massage her limbs, back, neck, shoulders. Even her abdomen. Anything to get the blood flowing."

Steve looked at the bottle and back to Nomura. "Don't you have a physical therapist on staff?"

"Yes, of course. However, the touch of a loved one is more beneficial than that of a stranger. The unconscious or comatose person senses emotion through physical contact."

"But we're not… I mean we haven't… We don't…"

Nomura smiled gently and patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, son. I'll leave you two alone. If you need anything, use the call button."

Steve looked at the label. _Warming lotion_. Friction warmed the lotion before application. Because she was on her side, Steve started with her back. He rolled the sheet and blanket out of the way, removed the pillow and parted the sides of the gown. He squirted a small amount into his palm, rubbed his hands together and began massaging her back and shoulders. Steve had done it on a few occasions, always through her clothing. It thrilled him now to be able to see the bumps and ridges of her spine that he'd only felt.

He moved down to her lower back and the outside curve of her hip, doing his best to ignore her bare backside. This was neither the time nor the place for the thoughts running through his mind.

Easing her onto her back, Steve pushed the sleeve of her gown up and continued his ministrations on her arms up to the shoulder. He avoided the left arm below the elbow, not wanting to venture too close to the injury. Bruises peeked from under the bandages, bright purple against the white.

When it came time to do the rest of her, Steve hesitated briefly before folding the covers back to expose one leg up to the thigh. Here, like her back, he'd only felt its shape through the material of her pants. The muscles were smooth, firm and toned, as was the calf, just as he knew they'd be.

Moving around to the foot of the bed, he used his thumbs to press into the ball of her foot, moving down to the heel and back, smiling when her toes curled at the contact. _She's ticklish_. Steve filed the info away for later as he covered that leg and went onto the other one. The doctor had mentioned massaging her abdomen, but Steve didn't feel comfortable doing that without her knowledge. The bottle went back into the drawer, and Steve once again took up his post holding Maria's hand.

 **Vermont**

James and Natasha returned to the cabin near dark. Their hike had been a long and arduous, and she'd done it all without complaint. Not certain of her motives for anything she was doing on his behalf, he simply followed wherever she led. Often behind her, and occasionally at her side. He offered no opinion one way to the other on what path they should take and they only stopped when she suggested it.

At one point, they stopped for a rest in a small clearing. Natasha had taken off her boots and socks to wiggle her toes in the grass. Leaning back on her hands, she'd closed her eyes and turned her face into the sun, basking in its warmth and promise.

Not knowing what else to do, James sat where he could watch her face. He was curious about everything she did, the reasons behind each decision she made whether for herself, for him or for them together. He wasn't so much waiting for her to give him orders; he'd taken care of himself for weeks before they joined forces. Until he could figure her out, he fell back on the programmed behavior of the Winter Soldier.

They hadn't spoken since the previous night, not conversationally. And if they did, what would he say? That being around her gave him the freedom _not_ to make decisions? Within him, he felt the compulsion to complete his mission to assassinate her then go after Steve. That was one reason he wouldn't allow her to take him in. He didn't want to kill anyone ever again, and was afraid that he would harm Natasha, Steve and anyone who got in the way of completing his programming even considering that the man giving the orders was gone.

James followed her up the steps to the porch. She took off her backpack as she went, dropping it on the floor beside the chair. Her boots came off, he guessed to keep from tracking mud and dirt. Again, James followed her lead.

Inside, Natasha turned on the music, washed her hands, and began gathering food. She laid the vegetables in the empty sink and turned on the water while she got out cutting boards and knives. She looked over her shoulder at him and he guessed that she must've felt him tense up at seeing the knives. He relaxed when she lay them on the counter. The washed vegetables went into a bowl which she set on the counter as well.

Natasha retrieved a package of pink meat from the refrigerator and laid it on the second cutting board. "We're making chicken stew. You cut up the veggies while I get the chicken ready."

James picked up the knife, looking from it to the food items, uncertain what to do. Natasha took the knife from him and demonstrated with an orange vegetable. When done, she handed him the knife. "For the onion, cut the top and bottom off and remove the skin before cutting it up." He stared at her for a long moment, and she smiled wryly back. "I know you're good with a knife, Barnes, so get to work."

Her tone indicated a request, not an order. Still, he obediently did as he was told. After a few minutes, somehow, the two of them standing side by side performing what would've been a mundane ritual to anyone else, gave him a sense of peace. The belief that he just might be able to become a part of the world that had left him behind so long ago.

As he finished, Natasha took a pot from under the counter, added a yellow liquid and water. She took down several small jars from a rack on the wall, sprinkling a little of each into the pot. "If you're done, give them one more rinse in cold water and put them in."

While he did that, Natasha held the cutting board in her right hand and used the knife to push the pieces of chicken into the warming liquid. She turned down the flame and covered the pot with a clear lid. "It has to simmer a while so find some way to amuse yourself. If you want to help, I'll give a shout."

Then, she filled the sink with hot soapy water to wash the dishes. Her back was to him, her head moving in time to the music. It would be so easy to snap her neck. Just a quick flick of the wrist and it would be done. That would leave Steve for him to dispose of and his mission would be complete. James flexed the fingers of his biomechanical hand and circled the shoulder joint in preparation for a fight. He took a half step in her direction and stopped, letting the hand fall to his side.

No. He told Natasha there would be no more killing, and he meant it. She was also the last person he wanted to see harmed, by him or anyone else. If at all possible, James wanted them to be friends. However, he had no idea how to start. Maybe that was why Natasha had brought him to this solitary place. He had tried putting himself back into society, and it had been a dismal failure. The rules were different now than before. He needed guidance, and Natasha seemed to be offering just that.

His stocking feet making no sound on the hard wood floor and rugs, James chose a book at random from the shelf built into the wall and returned to his room, locking the door behind him. Not to keep Natasha out, but to keep himself in. Being around Natasha, the urge to finish his mission was still present. If he ignored it, maybe the sensation would go away.

Opening the book, he read the title, _The Bourne Identity_ , the story of Jason Bourne, a man with remarkable survival abilities who suffered from retrograde amnesia, and who must seek to discover his true identity. In the process, he must also reason out why several shadowy groups, a professional assassin, and the CIA want him dead. And like the book from the library, he didn't miss the similarity to his own situation. He turned to the first page and started to read.

 **The Helicarrier**

Dr. Nomura sent Steve to get some rest, but he hadn't been able to sleep so he took a run on deck instead. He ran the length of the helicarrier ten round trips then did push-ups and crunches. The punching bag would've helped get his frustration out, but he needed fresh air to clear his head.

Another problem nagging at him was that he'd hoped to hear from Natasha by now. He didn't know if the fact that he hadn't was good or bad.

He went down to the gym to shower and change, then made his way back to the medical bay via the mess hall. For the first time in days, he felt like eating. After a thousand calorie meal and an entire pot of coffee, Steve returned to Maria's room. This time, she was on her back. Holding her hand once more, he sat in the chair and closed his eyes.

~~O~~

Maria slowly became aware of her surroundings. This place didn't sound or smell like the brownstone, her apartment or her quarters in The Cave. Though she was in no way a perfect housekeeper, her place didn't smell like antiseptic and the only time she heard beeping was when the alarm went off, if she slept that late.

She yawned and tried to sit up, giving it up as a bad idea when a wave of dizziness made her head spin. Her head dropped back to the pillow and she opened her eyes instead. The room was lit by a single light next to the door; more than enough to see by. The hospital room was small, and the low thrum of engines told her she was on the helicarrier. Searching her memory for why she was he, she realized that the last thing she remembered was boarding the quinjet for the flight to New York.

Her bangs hung in her eyes, but when she tried to brush them away, she felt and saw the IV stuck in the back and the oxygen sensor clipped to her index finger. Then she remembered the infection. Dreading what she might see, Maria looked to the left, and was relieved to find her hand hadn't been amputated. She moved just her fingers, surprised to feel no pain. Next, she made a loose fist, and still no pain, something she hadn't been able to do since…

 _How long have I been here? What day is it?_

A snore came from her right. She sought out the bed controls and turned on the overhead light to see Steve asleep in a chair, head resting on his fist and knees splayed wide, one hand on the edge of the bed.

Something moved against her chest and she looked down at the EKG leads inside the neck of her gown. Her bladder twinged a complaint, and without thinking, Maria tossed the covers off and swung her legs over the side. Her punishment was another wave of dizziness followed by her stomach heaving. She swallowed the bile in the back of her throat, breathing through her nose until it stopped.

In his sleep, Steve patted the mattress, and when he found her hand, his fingers curled around it and he sighed. The man looked so peaceful, it was a shame she had to wake him. "Steve?"

He went from sound asleep to wide awake and on his feet in less than a second. "Maria? You're awake." Framing her face with his palms, he kissed her then rested his forehead against hers. "Thank God it worked."

Making a hurry up motion, Maria grasped his hand and slid off the bed. "Later. Help me to the bathroom."

~~O~~

Maria took a step, and movement brought Steve's attention to the fact that her gown gaped open in the back, exposing her backside. Gathering the sides, he held it closed until they reached the door of the bathroom. Turning around, she gazed up at him with that half-smile he adored. "I'll take it from here, Rogers, but don't leave."

"I won't." Steve closed the door behind her, careful not to shut it on the IV tube, and for a fleeting second, thought about calling the doctor. Instead, he leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, rubbed both hands over his face and blew out a breath of air he'd been holding for what seemed like days. While waiting for her to come out, he said a short prayer of thanks. The water shut off, and Steve pushed off the wall, ready to help her back to bed. Knowing her, she was taking off the bandage.

Through the door, he heard a small intake of breath, an angry growl just before, "Steve!"

He wrenched the door open and Maria turned toward him holding up her left hand. Her eyes were wide with shock and not a little bit of anger, neither of which was unexpected. "What the _hell_ did you _do_ to me?"

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **26**

 **Stark Plaza**

Standing across from Bruce, Helen stifled a yawn and tried to concentrate on her work. She and Bruce had been building the retrovirus for Agent Barton's friend for over thirty-six hours without stopping, and she'd been up for almost twelve by that point. Bruce, on the other hand, always gave the impression that he could go on forever. A side effect of the Gamma radiation? There was no way to know. Early on in their collaboration, he'd asked her not to study his DNA. Said he worked in a lab, but didn't want to be one of the rats. Metaphorically or otherwise.

Working with Bruce was always an exciting challenge. And working in the SI lab meant there was always a chance that the other Avengers would show up unexpectedly. One such time, Thor had arrived while she was consulting with Bruce and Mr. Stark on a project a few months ago. And during a break, the Asgardian had engaged her in conversation, charming her with his old world manners and formal speech patterns. The one turn-off was the deep affection he had for Jane Foster. He was quite obviously in love with Jane and not one to engage in dalliances. That didn't mean Helen couldn't talk to him, which she did at every opportunity.

"There. That's got it." Bruce's voice snapped her out of a minor fantasy about Thor and back to reality.

"Let's see." Part of the display changed to a computer modeling program that could run on its own. "Looks good. We should both get some rest while it's running."

Bruce shed his lab coast, removed his glasses and stretched. "There's a spare room if you'd like to bunk here. I could lend you something to sleep in."

He offer was so kind, Helen nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Bruce. I was dreading the drive to my apartment in cross-town traffic."

She followed him to the lifts and out on what Jarvis called the residential level. They stopped in front of a door that looked like all the others. "Jarvis, Dr. Cho is staying in the guest room for the night."

" _Very well, Dr. Banner. I'll do everything possible to make her comfortable_."

Bruce spread his hands out to the side. "There you go. All the comforts of home. I'll go get you something to sleep in."

The door opened and Helen stepped inside, her eyes scanning from left to right, taking in the opulent furnishings of a room that was easily twice the size of her apartment. "Home doesn't look like a place."

" _Pardon, Miss_?"

"Nothing, Jarvis." There was a knock at the door, Bruce with a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, both too big for her. Helen laid the clothing on the foot of the king sized bed, undressing on her way to the bathroom. Opening drawers and cabinets, she found everything necessary to make her stay comfortable and more.

After her shower, Helen dressed for bed, combed her hair, chose a book from one of the shelves in the sitting area, and curled up in a chair to read. Soon, her eyes grew heavy. She closed the book and climbed into bed. "Jarvis, wake me in six hours. Sooner if the computer modeling comes up with a solution."

" _Of course, Miss. Pleasant dreams_."

 **The Helicarrier**

Maria's reflection in the mirror scowled back as she washed her hands, the action not causing even a twinge of pain. Strange because it had hurt so badly the past few days. She peeled the tape free, unwound the gauze and dropped it on the counter. Turning her palm down, she examined the back. The red and swollen lump had disappeared, and in its place was a thin white line surrounded by the light pink of regenerated flesh. She wondered how her wound could heal so quickly. Then she remembered what Steve said.

 _Thank God it worked_.

"Steve!" The bathroom door immediately swung open, and Steve was standing anxiously waiting for her to finish. Outraged that he'd let the doctors experiment on her without consent, she held up her now healed hand. "What the _hell_ did you _do_ to me?"

She swayed, her anger, time in bed and lack of real food making her lightheaded. Steve caught her in his arms and carried her to the bed, pulling the sheet and blanket up to her waist. "You were _dying_ , Maria. I couldn't let that happen." He looked away from the accusation in her eyes and exhaled loudly. "I'll get the doctor."

He turned away, and she caught his hand. "Steve?"

Though he was reluctant to answer, he agreed. "You were given a transfusion of my blood in hopes that its rapid cell regeneration would be transferred to you. Temporarily at least." He shrugged, a small smile turning up his mouth. "Looks like it worked. I'll get Dr. Nomura."

This time, Maria let Steve go, if only to give her the time she needed to process what he told her, latching onto the most cryptic aspect of his explanation. _You were dying, Maria. I couldn't let that happen._

The doctor came in with a nurse in tow before she could complete her deliberation. "How are you feeling, Commander Hill?"

With Steve's last words ringing in her head and wondering what they might mean, Maria told him, "Unbelievable, doctor. In more ways than one."

Nomura gave her a quick yet thorough examination then studied her injury, poking the area around it. "That hurt at all?"

"No. Nothing." Maria tossed the covers aside and got to her feet. "I'm good to go. Where are my clothes?"

"Get dressed, but you can't leave yet, Commander. We have to run tests, do lab work. Thanks to Captain Rogers, your recovery is unprecedented. If there were a way to harness the rapid regeneration process…"

"Then make it quick. I've got places to be." She cocked her head to the side. "Tell Captain Rogers to stop pacing and go get a cup of coffee."

Nomura looked confused as he opened the door. Steve was indeed pacing near the med bay entrance and not visible from her position in the room. The doctor looked back at her with an unreadable expression.

~~O~~

Steve wanted to listen in on the conversation between Maria and Nomura, but ethics prevented it. Then, the doctor came out, standing in the doorway of her room, looking from Maria to him and back. "You heard that?"

"You didn't?"

The doctor didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the nurse. "Have the blood work run stat." Nomura spoke over his shoulder, "Commander Hill, please get dressed and join us in the ward. I'd like to run a few practical tests, if you don't mind."

Maria and Steve shared a confused glance over the doctor's shoulder. Steve shrugged and she returned it, then shut the door to change. He wanted to wait for her, but the doctor was pulling him along. "I want to test a theory."

"What _kind_ of theory?" Nomura kept walking with Steve crossing his arms and planting his feet.

As if he thought Steve could read his mind, Nomura shook a finger and said, "Exactly."

~~O~~

Maria got dressed and came into the ward to find Nomura standing near the entrance and Steve pacing in a circle just outside the door. "We're ready to begin, Captain Rogers."

Steve came to stand just a few feet from her, the stiffness in his stance telling her he was annoyed with Nomura, and that his patience wasn't infinite.

"Commander Hill, face that wall, please." She did as he asked, her annoyance growing with each moment. He walked to the middle of the room and stopped. "Captain Rogers, I need you to stand behind her and talk, say anything. Just don't stop until I tell you to. And use your normal speaking voice, please."

Nomura touched her on the shoulder. "Respond to him and don't worry about me. I'll be taking notes."

"As long as _you_ understand that we're humoring you for no reason."

Waving vaguely, Nomura murmured, "Fine, fine. Whatever you have to tell yourself as long as we get this done. Captain?"

Over the next few minutes, Steve asked several innocuous questions such as how long had they been renting the brownstone, the name of the motel they stayed in where Barton joined them, the name of the realtor who rented them the property, and so forth. "What names did Barton give to the statues on the roof?"

Steve's mocking tone made Maria want to smile, but she kept it to just a slight upturn on one side. "Titania, Percival, Tobias, Lucius, Balthazar, Iago, Homer, and Jezebel. Balthazar is Barton's personal confidant. Personally, I find Jezebel give better advice."

Nomura's voice interrupted, "Excuse me?"

A huff came from Steve, aimed at the doctor. "Nothing. Can we please finish?"

"Commander Hill?"

"Keep going, Steve."

She heard him shift his feet and stop. "Where did we go on our date?"

Her grin turned into a smirk, "The Old Haunt in Manhattan. We had dinner, danced, and on the way back to the brownstone, we found what we thought was the perfect place to make out without getting caught."

He laughed, and underneath, she felt his embarrassment that she'd brought up their _faux pas_ in front of a stranger.

"That's enough. Turn around."

Maria spun on her heel, slack jawed at seeing Steve outside the ward and down the hall a few feet. "What's going on?"

Nomura motioned for Steve to join them. "It appears that in addition to Captain Rogers' rapid cell regeneration, you've also inherited, so to speak, his enhanced senses. We've only tested hearing. However, I see it as indicative of increased sensitivity all across the board."

He started to walk away, stopping when Maria called out to him, "Wait! Is it permanent?"

"I should think not. Anywhere from seven days to a month is average. Though there are documented cases where the donor's DNA was still present in the recipient eighteen months later." With a distracted wave, Nomura walked away, his eyes glued to his tablet and mumbling under his breath.

"Eighteen…" Maria started.

"… _months_?!" Steve finished for her, but the doctor had gone.

"Eighteen months." Frustrated, Maria looked around and saw that they were alone in the ward. "Thanks for saving my life."

Steve's half-smile was back again. "I guess that makes us even then." His hands came up to lightly grip her biceps, rubbing down to her elbows and up again, his expression morphing into what looked like affection. "Maria, I…"

"If you say anything about my hair or the fact that I haven't showered in three days, I'll hurt you."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead then leaned back to look her in the eyes. "I was _going_ to say I'm glad you're alright."

Because she wanted it and didn't care who saw them, Maria framed his face with her palms and pulled him close. "Shut up, Rogers."

Maria didn't give him even a fraction of a second to think it over. Tiptoeing, she closed the gap and kissed him, letting her lips tell him how she felt, knowing she might never be able to say the words. And because they were in public, sort of, this was also her way of letting the world know that she and Steve were together. She hoped Steve appreciated how hard it was for her to make that admission.

 **Brooklyn**

Steve tossed his bag into the den and shut the door. Maria dropped her bag on the chair by the stairs, and together they went into the living room where Sam and Santino were playing a video game. They shut it down to give Steve their full attention.

"Where's Kiba?"

The guys laughed, Sam shaking his head. "She's gone out. Didn't say where."

"And Barton?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. Hasn't been back and no call. Can't reach him on his phone either."

Steve took out his phone, but Maria beat him to it. She nodded to herself, adding an eye roll at Barton's voicemail message. "This is Hill. Call me ASAP." To the room, she said, "It's a little early to send up a flare. We'll give him a day or two and figure out where to go from there."

There was something in Maria's tone, concern for her friend and colleague, yet it wasn't. Almost as if she was putting on a show for their sakes. He'd corner her later and get an explanation. Not that he expected her to answer truthfully. That's just how it was in their business, and he accepted that she wouldn't always be able to tell him the truth. Another explanation could be that Barton had taken Maria into his confidence and she wouldn't break that. "Now that our group's shrunk down to four, five if you count Barton…"

"And why wouldn't you?" The archer's voice came from behind them followed by the thump of his backpack on the kitchen floor. "What's goin' on?"

Barton moved around in front of Steve, taking a seat at the computer, his feet propped on the corner. Sam and Santino returned to the sofa.

"Bucky's with Romanoff. I don't know what her plan is or where they've gone. She promised to keep in touch. For the time being, I'm trusting her to know what she's doing. If anyone wants to opt out, feel free to leave."

The men didn't consult, Barton speaking for them. "We'll hang around for a while. FYI - Dooney's in the hospital. Should be out in a couple of days."

"What happened?" Steve wanted to know. The others too, to go by their increased interest.

Barton's feet hit the floor and he got up to pace over to the fireplace, leaning on it with one hand while the other rubbed the back of his neck. "He has leukemia. A rare and aggressive form. His life expectancy at this point is short. Months at the most. I've something in the works. Just waiting to hear back."

Steve nodded while covering a yawn, and headed for the den. "Who's making dinner tonight? Please say it's not me."

Waving his arm to include Santino and Sam, Barton finally smiled. "You and Hill just relax. We'll take care of it."

A snort came from Maria. "Twist my arm, Barton." She covered a yawn. "I need a shower and some shut eye, in that order. Food can wait."

"Just don't burn the house down with us in it." With that parting remark, Steve shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. He knew she wanted to discuss using his blood to cure her, but they hadn't been alone in the quinjet on the ride back to New York. Though they sat side by side for the entire time, neither had made even the attempt to start a conversation not of business nature. It was for the best, he supposed. Shaking his head, he toed off his shoes while unbuttoning his shirt. Next to go was the pants, tossed in the seat of the desk chair with the rest of his dirty clothes. With the warmer weather, pajamas weren't necessary so he spread the blanket on the rug, dropped a pillow at one end and lay down on his back. Looking up at the ceiling, hands folded over his stomach, the thumbs twirling, first one way then in the opposite direction, he inhaled, exhaled, then turned on his side and closed his eyes, wondering what Maria was thinking at that moment.

A thump came from above and toward the back of the house, exactly where Maria's room was located. With a grin, he gave himself over to sleep.

~~O~~

In her room with the door closed, Maria got undressed and put on a t-shirt to sleep in, all the while thinking about the hearing test Nomura had done. If she had Steve's super hearing, what else had she gotten from him? She remembered hearing about a boy who developed potentially deadly allergies to fish and peanuts after receiving a blood transfusion from someone with those allergies. Steve's ability to heal had saved her life. What other side effects could there be?

Her eyes landed on the bed, a heavy wooden frame that would take four adult males to pick it up without taking it apart. Moving to the footboard, Maria grasped the bottom edge, took a breath and lifted. She made a silent gasp when she was easily able to raise it to shoulder level. Grinning to herself, she said, "Too bad it's not going to last."

She dropped the bed, brushed her hands together and crawled under the covers. Turning on her side facing the window, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep. And waited. After a while, she rolled the other way, feeling like something was missing. Turning onto her back, she reached for the book she'd taken from the library, opened it to the bookmark and started reading.

 **Two Hours Later**

Loud music blasted Steve from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into, sending him running to the living room.

 _I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy,_

 _Yankee Doodle, do or die;_

 _A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam,_

 _Born on the Fourth of July._

 _I've got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart,_

 _She's my Yankee Doodle joy._

 _Yankee Doodle came to London, just to ride the ponies;_

 _I am that Yankee Doodle Boy._

Footsteps pounded on the stairs as he silenced George M. Cohan's most famous patriotic tune. He turned to see Maria standing on the bottom step, a scowl firmly in place. "What the hell _was_ that?"

" _Yankee Doodle Dandy_. Barton's idea of a wake-up call apparently." He handed her a sheet of paper with a note written in Barton's nearly illegible scrawl.

 _Dinner's in the oven._

 _Wine and dessert in the fridge._

 _Enjoy your romantic dinner for two._

It was signed with a bow and arrow.

Maria pushed the hair out of her eyes. "What is he _talking_ about?"

Steve pointed to the table by the window that looked out into the garden. It was set with a snow white tablecloth and napkins, real china and silverware, and white candles. There was a second note there advising them to start the music during the meal and a Blu-Ray to watch afterward.

Shaking her head and smiling, Steve sat down on the stairs and Maria sat next to him. "Every time I get the urge to kill him, he does something like this."

He held her hand, feeling the strength and vigor that had been lacking twenty-four hours ago. She pulled free and stood, and that's when he realized she was wearing only a t-shirt and he was in boxers. "We should get dressed and eat before Barton's hard work goes to waste."

 **Vermont**

The music stopped, and James waited for Natasha to knock on the door to tell him it was time to eat. When she didn't, he went back to reading. The story of Jason Bourne was somewhat fascinating. As he delved deeper into it, there were as many similarities between the character and himself as there were differences. At least what he could remember.

James _wanted_ to remember how he'd been before, when he'd been Bucky Barnes, even if he couldn't be that man again. He didn't see how hiking in the woods and helping Natasha cook could do that. She had his trust up to a point, and he supposed it went the other way as well. For now, he'd wait and see.

Sometime later, he wondered what had become of Natasha. By his estimation, she should have come to check on him as she did during the night when she thought he was sleeping. James didn't know what to think of her treating him like a child. Should he ask her to stop or let it continue? Would she stop if he asked?

The need to get up and move sent him out to the other part of the cabin where he found Natasha asleep on the sofa. She was curled into a ball, facing the back, one hand under the pillow and the other pushed up under her chin. A lock of that red hair touched her cheek, and without thinking, he used his finger to move it back into place. A small sound came from her throat, her forehead crinkling as she dreamt, making him wonder what dreams plagued her at night. Were they anything like his? Running, fighting, killing, torture? Or something much worse?

Again, he wanted to touch her hair, let it fall through his fingers, but something held him back. Partly concern that she would be angry with him for doing so without permission. Another part of him wanted to do it anyway. To keep from doing something to make her regret her decision to stay with him, James opted to go outside. The door was open and he was about to step onto the porch when she spoke.

"Going somewhere, Barnes?"

He turned around, and now she was sitting up, her hair tousled, and that one lock again stuck to her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear and stood. The look in her eyes seemed to say that she knew what he'd done and what he'd been thinking at the time, though he didn't see how. "For a walk."

"Want company?" James hesitated, and she added, "I won't be insulted if you say no."

It may have been his imagination, but she appeared to be amused by him. For what reason, he couldn't say. He wanted… no, he needed to be alone for a while. "No."

"Okay. Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

James nodded and closed the door, leaving Natasha alone. In the back of his mind, he felt that wasn't right, that he should stay near to protect her, a sensation that was at odds with what he knew about her from their fight on the bridge and flight from the city. His momentary urge to stay faded but didn't go completely away as he descended the steps to the grassy area in front of the cabin. He chose a direction and started walking.

~~O~~

Natasha should've felt sorry for teasing Barnes, but she wasn't. It was part of her plan to bring him back into society and teasing was a part of it. There was so much heartache going on that he needed to see the lighter side before being immersed in the darker part of the world.

To go by the dreams he'd been having, his memories were still intact, but not consciously accessible. There had to be a way to help him remember. In his current state, he wouldn't be able to function in society without someone there as a buffer. Much like when Steve first came out of the ice. Natasha had been assigned to be his escort, alternating with other agents who brought differing views of the world due to culture, upbringing, spiritual and personal beliefs. She would proceed in much the same way with Barnes, but at a slower pace. They would stay here as long as it took.

Going to the kitchen, she stirred the stew and turned the flame down. Leaning against the counter, she took out her phone, the one that couldn't be tracked, and sent him a text.

 _Need info re: Barnes_

His response came through in under a minute. _Where are you?_

 _Somewhere safe_

 _What info?_

Natasha smiled. It was just the opening she was looking for. She tapped out her requests, adding, _Send to this email add. Lots of detail_ and waited for Steve's response, her mind's eye seeing his expression of annoyance. _He'll get over it when I bring Barnes in._

Twenty minutes later, she received a long and very detailed email which she transferred to the cabin's computer system. Reading through it, she planned her strategy. It wouldn't be easy, the job before her. What she was doing for Barnes, Clint, Coulson and Fury had done for her. She could do no less than pay it forward. Barnes would benefit from her experience and empathy. Patience was one of her few virtues, and it would take all that she had to bring him around.

 **Stark Plaza**

Helen rolled over, blinking at the clock until it came into focus. When she saw the time, she bolted out of bed and ran into the bathroom, did what she had to do, and came back out to get dressed. "Jarvis?"

" _Yes, Miss_?"

"You were supposed to wake me hours ago."

She heard what in a human would be a sigh of exasperation. " _I apologize, Miss, but Dr. Banner said to let you sleep_."

Going back to the bathroom, Helen used a comb to tame her long hair and put it into a long braid. "That was kind of him."

" _Dr. Banner has an exceedingly generous nature_."

Her annoyance with the AI dissolved, and she smiled. "Yes, he does. Is he in the lab?"

" _Not at this time. He is with Mr. Stark in the lounge. Shall I summon him for you_?"

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Helen put on her sneakers and tied the laces. "No. I'll go to the lab and work. Let him know that's where I'll be."

"Of _course, Miss. Would you care for something to eat_?"

The AI's concern for her welfare warmed her. "I would. A grilled chicken salad with ranch dressing and extra tomatoes. Iced tea to drink, please."

" _As you wish._ "

She left the guest suite and headed for the lab. "What's the progress on the computer modeling?"

" _Nothing_ _to report as yet. Would you care to eat on the balcony or in the lounge with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner_?"

"No thanks. I have work to catch up on." When she reached the lab, Helen slipped into her lab coat and picked up a tablet with the results of the computer modeling so far. A few minutes later, her meal arrived. Sitting at Bruce's desk, she uncovered the salad, picked up a fork and began eating. Laying the tablet aside, she sighed, the quiet of the lab making her feel lonely. All her life had been about studying and work. At university, she'd only gone on a few dates that always ended in disaster. She hadn't joined a sorority, nor had she been invited to even one frat party, and if she had, she probably wouldn't have gone. Back at university, she'd been shy and studious, and men avoided her like the plague. Still did except for work. She sighed again, poking at her salad with the fork.

 **Brooklyn**

Dinner was over, and though it was time for dessert, Maria wanted to drink the wine and relax for a few minutes. She plucked the empty bottle from the windowsill. "Forbidden Peak Vineyards, Columbia, Washington."

Steve leaned back in his chair, wine glass held by the stem in his left hand. "You say that like it's significant. Does it matter where the wine is from?"

One side of her mouth turned up. "Depends on who you ask. As long as I like the taste, I don't care about its parentage."

He finished off the wine and set his glass on the table at the same time as Maria. "Ready for dessert?" She shook her head. "Dancing?"

Another head shake. She poured the last of the second bottle into their glasses and stood, holding out her hand. Steve picked up his glass and she led him to the sofa. The music was still playing, soft and gentle. He sat down and Maria sat next to him with her feet curled under.

They stayed just like that, sitting in the dark with the music playing, his fingers lightly caressing her arm below the sleeve of her top. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes drifted shut when he rubbed the spot with his cheek. Maria was about to doze off when Steve sneezed, startling her awake. Sitting up, she finished off the wine and stood. "I'm ready for something sweet."

Steve set their glasses out of the way and followed her into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out a small covered dish. Maria removed the cover and inhaled sharply, but not with awe or even astonishment. No, the emotion she felt was on the darker side: outrage. "I'm going to _kill_ Barton!"

"Why?"

She showed him the dish contained not a sweet after dinner treat, but a handful of flat, square packages. Steve picked one up and turned it over. "Oh, God."

He started laughing, which further annoyed her. "What is so _funny_?"

Seeing how pissed she was, at Barton _and_ at him, Steve brought his amusement under control. He took the dish and set it on the counter to take her in his arms. "You were right. I really _am_ that easy to read. You think he's known all along?"

"I doubt it. Romanoff and Banner had a thing a few months ago and he never caught on until it was pointed out to him. It ended just before D.C., and they're still friends."

"Seriously?"

Against his chest, Maria murmured, "Mm-hmm."

She felt his laughter where their bodies touched, a deep rumble that vibrated through her, a reminder of her childhood.

They moved back to the living room, Maria put the Blu-Ray in the player and swiped the remote from the desk, but didn't start the movie. "Remember when we talked about happy childhood memories?"

"Of course."

"I have one for you. When I was ten, my father let have a cat. She was a long haired calico named Dixie. Her favorite place to sleep was curled up in bed with me. Her purring lulled me to sleep every night until I graduated high school."

"Did she stay with your dad while you were at college?"

The wistful smile she hadn't been able to contain turned sad. "Dad said he didn't want her under foot, so she went to live with a neighbor." Maria pointed the remote at the television. "Let's watch the movie."

The opening credits for _The Philadelphia Story_ came on the screen and they settled in to watch the hijinks of Tracy Lord, Tracy's ex, C.K. Dexter Haven, and Tracy's eccentric family.

When the movie was over, Steve walked Maria up the stairs to her door. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. She'd only planned on a quick kiss and they'd be off to their separate beds, but it didn't happen that way. Steve held her tight, his palms flattening on her back, rubbing up and down as if he couldn't get enough of her. Maria pulled away long enough to take a few breaths, grabbed Steve's shirt and pushed him up against the wall, her new strength making everything shake at the impact. The blue of his eyes darkened as his lips found hers once more.

~~O~~

Taking care not to make noise, Clint, Sam and Santino crept through the kitchen toward the stairs using just the kitchen light to see the way. Just for a moment, Clint listened at Steve's door, hearing nothing but the usual night sounds. On the second floor, it was the same. Sam and Santino went into their rooms and shut the doors.

Clint listened at Hill's door, and still heard nothing. Thinking they were probably asleep after a rousing session of bump and grind, he climbed up to the attic. Sitting on the side of the bed, he pulled off his boots then stood to take off his pants and plaid shirt, deciding to sleep in just his boxers and t-shirt.

He lay down with a groan, staring up at the ceiling. Using only the light from outside, he saw something on the slanted roof above him. When he realized what it was, his eyes widened and he rolled into a ball to protect himself.

 **TBC**

 **A/N:** _The Philadelphia Story_ is a 1940 American romantic comedy film directed by George Cukor, starring Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and James Stewart, and featuring Ruth Hussey. Based on the Broadway play of the same name by Philip Barry, the film is about a socialite whose wedding plans are complicated by the simultaneous arrival of her ex-husband and a tabloid magazine journalist.


	4. Chapter 27

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 27**

 **Brooklyn**

When the thing didn't fall, Clint looked up. It, or rather _they_ , hung there, swaying precariously. He slowly put first one foot then the other over the side, but before he could get out of the way, a dozen water-filled condoms fell on his head, soaking him-and his bed-with ice cold water. "Shit!" he exclaimed, rolling out of bed to his feet.

Stifled laughter came from behind him, and he knew without looking that he'd just been royally pranked by Hill and Rogers. When Clint faced them, his mood dark and dangerous, they ignored him. No, it was worse. They _laughed_!

"I would say this as a successful operation," Hill stated, holding out her hand for a fist bump, and Rogers tapped it with his.

"I agree." As they left the attic, Rogers asked, "Think he's learn his lesson?"

"Never has before, so don't hold your breath."

Rogers held the door for Hill and followed her down. "I could do with a cold beer. Join me, Commander Hill?"

As the door closed at the bottom of the stairs, Hill's overly cheerful voice responded, "I'd _love_ to, Captain Rogers."

Their laughter faded as Clint pushed his hands through his hair, flinging water and on the floor. He stripped off the wet clothes and momentarily thought about walking down to the bathroom bare ass naked to teach them a lesson. However, it was unlikely that either would notice or care.

He pulled on a pair of shorts, gathered the wet clothes, and carried it all down to the second floor bathroom where he hung the wet items on the shower rod and threw the other stuff in the trash. After towel drying his hair, he ran a comb through it, and instead of going back to the attic, Clint co-opted one of the empty bedrooms. The bed where Sullivan slept had been stripped and clean linens stacked on the dresser. He made the bed and lay down to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating making a quick call before sleeping. It was late, even on the west coast. The call could wait until morning.

But instead of going right to sleep, Clint wondered what had gone wrong that Hill and Rogers had made water balloons from the condoms instead of using them for their intended purpose. _What the hell are they waiting for?_ _They had the place to themselves long enough to get the deed done, and didn't take advantage of it. Too busy plotting revenge, I guess_. _I could take it to the next level, but not this time_.

Clint was always up for a good prank war, but with everything going on with Dooney, his heart wasn't in it. _You're getting_ _old_ _, Barton_ , he told himself just before lights out.

 **Vermont**

 _All the girls knew better than to question Madame B, but Natalia had done so. Once might be forgiven. However, it was never forgotten. Within moments of the second infraction, the matron had her dragged kicking and screaming into a room designed to deprive the occupant of any form of sensory input. Stories were told that if you stayed in there long enough, you would surely go mad. Yet somehow, the_ _matron who oversaw the girls' training never let it get that far. The occupant was always released before toppling into an abyss from which she would never emerge._

 _This time, however, Natasha wasn't alone in the room. She could sense amorphous creatures moving around her, touching and retreating before she could defend herself, testing, becoming bolder the longer she remained. Suddenly, one became aggressive, wrapping itself around her head, oozing into her mouth, nose and ears, smothering her. The harder she fought, the harder it squeezed, until her oxygen starved brain stuttered and fizzled. Then, just before her consciousness winked out, a hand gripped hers, holding tight, lending her strength._

 _As if from far away, she heard a voice calling to her name. "Natasha-a-a?"_

 _The last syllable was drawn out, echoing in the chamber. How that could be when it was made to be sound proof? And that name. Her birth parents had named her Natalia_ _Alianovna. She hadn't changed it until…_

" _Natasha. I'm here." The voice, speaking Russian, was closer now. She could feel their arms brush against each other in the darkness, and knew her savior was male. "Take my hand, malenkaya. I'll save you."_

 _But how could that be? The only men at the facility were the doctors and researchers, and they never used endearments for the girls._

 _T_ _he voice was familiar, soft and warm, with an element of affection. A sharp contrast to the frosty tones of the staff. By instinct, she gave her trust to the other person, allowing him to pull her into the safety of his embrace._

Bolting upright in bed, Natasha awoke from the dream about the Red Room, a scream trapped in her throat, clawing at her neck and face. She gulped air, panting as if she'd singlehandedly fought a squadron of Chitauri soldiers.

Her instincts told her someone else was in the room. She switched on the lamp, illuminating the near side of Barnes' face. He was on one knee, the single blue eye she could see showing concern. "Are you okay?"

She inhaled and closed her eyes, taking a mental and physical inventory, nodding though she still felt the dream creatures on her skin. " _Da_."

Barnes stood and moved back when she flung the covers aside and got to her feet. The gentle breeze from the air conditioning stirred her hair and cooled the sweat on her face, chilling her. A few hairs stuck to her forehead and cheeks, and she brushed them away impatiently. "Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Good." As she moved past him, Barnes stepped out of the way then followed her to the kitchen. She took two beers from the refrigerator, twisted the tops off and passed him one. Leaning on the counter, she pushed one hand into her hair, lifting it off her neck and letting it fall again. Pulling out a chair, she dropped heavily into it, resting an elbow on the table and her head in that hand.

Barnes sat down and stared back, just his eyes visible in the moonlight streaming through the window over the sink. He took a sip of the cold beverage, and still said nothing. Just watched her in that way he had. Assessing, but not judging.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha conceded. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." He looked at her with a blank expression, and she explained. "It means, 'I'll tell you about my dream, if you tell me about Isolde.'"

He looked away as he took another sip of beer. Stalling, Natasha decided. Finally, he shook his head.

"That's what I thought." Natasha drank down the last of her beer and set the bottle in the sink. Barnes did likewise and they returned to their rooms. With one hand on the knob, she looked over and saw him watching her. " _Spasibo._ "

He nodded once and went into his room. Just for a moment, before he closed the door, she saw him smile.

 **Lower Manhattan**

Kiba stopped just inside Dooney's apartment, staring around her with wide-eyed wonderment. She knew he made a decent living, but this was beyond what she'd expected.

The floor was made of a dark charcoal grey wood, a perfect foil for the silver-gray furnishings and thick pile area rug. Expensive without being too showy. Three-quarter windows looked out over the city of Manhattan. Her trained eye spotted the hidden window coverings that were lowered from the ceiling. A panel near the kitchen had to be the controls.

The kitchen island was made of Italian marble, but that was just a guess, coming as it was from a girl who grew up in Parachute, Colorado.

A hallway branched off to the right where she could see four doors, only one of which was closed. Kiba considered an open door an invitation, and as such, she would not enter that room without Dooney's express permission.

The dining room table sat near the windows offering a spectacular view of the city suitable for an intimate dinner party or a romantic evening for two. Or it would have if the place hadn't been trashed. There were no broken dishes, glassware, knick-knacks or photos, nor had the sofa and chairs been ripped apart. Someone had just thrown all the unbreakables around.

"Kiba?" Dooney was standing at the entrance to the hallway. "This way." She closed her mouth and followed Dooney down the hall. "Bathroom, linen closet, and master bedroom."

"What's that one?"

"Home office and workout room. You can use the equipment anytime as long as I'm not working."

She pursed her lips to fight a grin. "I'm EOD, not a corporate spy."

He chuckled at her mock serious tone at odds with the almost grin. "I need to work without distractions, and seeing you running on the treadmill in a pair of spandex shorts and a sports bra would derail my train of thought long before it got to the station."

Tilting her head to the side, her gaze roamed over his face and back to his eyes, the grin coming out. "I'll keep that in mind. Is there also a bed in there or does the sofa pull out?"

"No bed in the office, and no, the sofa doesn't pull out. Where you sleep is your choice." His gaze dropped to the floor and back to her face. "I have my good and bad nights. If you're willing to risk wakin' up to a man pukin' his guts out, you're welcome to sleep with me. And I do mean _sleep_."

Taking two steps forward, she reached for his hand. "My mother died of cervical cancer a year after I graduated high school. A nurse came in while I was at work, but I did most of it myself. Joined up after she passed and became an EOD. Pretty sure I can handle anything that comes my way and then some."

"Sorry about your mom. I won't feel slighted in the least if you change your mind down the road. And make no mistake, the road _will_ get bumpier as time goes by. I'm not sayin' that to scare you off. It's a statement of fact."

Dropping his hand, Kiba moved in closer. "I'm not doing this just because we slept together."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

"Because no one should have to go through something like this alone. I care about you, but even if we were just friends, I'd still be here. Everyone needs a support network. You have Barton, but he's busy matchmaking Hill and Rogers, not to mention that mysterious project. Romanoff is out of the picture for now. I'm sure you have other friends, but I want to do this." Still, he hesitated. "Duane, you've taken care of yourself for a long time. Let someone else take the burden for a while."

Kiba watched unidentifiable emotions flicker in his eyes. He breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Can you cook?"

With a smile, she set her bag on the floor by the closet. "I know my way around a kitchen and haven't killed anyone yet. You rest and I'll see what I can find."

He handed over his wallet. "Use my credit card to order out or have supplies delivered. The numbers are in the landline contact list. If you need to go out, take the Hummer. Keys above the wine rack."

One side of her mouth turned up. "We've only known each other a couple of weeks. How do you know you can trust me?"

"In my business, you develop instincts or you don't last. I'm not one to get into bed with someone with questionable ethics, literally _or_ figuratively. If I didn't know for certain I could trust you, it would've been one and done."

Assuming that "one and done" meant that he wouldn't have kept coming around after the incident with Newcomb, she smiled her appreciation. "That's good to hear. Rest. Let me take care of everything else."

With that, Kiba closed the bedroom door, warmed by Dooney's faith in her. Stepping over and around the clutter, she searched the kitchen and made a list of supplies, mostly ingredients for soups and foods that would set gently on his stomach when he wasn't feeling well. From the landline, she called in an order to the market. The service rep was suspicious at first-apparently Dooney was a frequent customer-but when she explained that she was his new cook and housekeeper, he became friendly again. She hadn't needed the credit card because Dooney had an account with them, and he promised to have the order delivered ASAP.

Laying the phone aside, Kiba searched out the cleaning supplies and set about putting the chaos in order, though she didn't run the vacuum in case Dooney was sleeping.

Just over an hour later, the delivery service arrived with the food and other items Kiba ordered. Once everything was put away, she threw a few ingredients in the crock pot and set it on low. She wrote a note and set it on the bedside table where Dooney would see it when he woke up. And though she hesitated to drive such an expensive vehicle, Kiba took the keys and left the apartment. She got directions to a clothing store from the doorman and took off.

She'd just arrived at a mid-priced resale boutique when Kiba received a call from a familiar number. "Hardison… Yes, of course… I appreciate your call… This week? No, no problem, ma'am. I'll be there… Looking forward to working with you as well, Sheriff."

The phone went back into her pocket as she entered the store, wondering how she was going to tell Dooney she would be leaving sooner than expected.

 **Stark Tower**

 **A Few Days Later**

"Bruce! Wake up!"

Bruce opened his eyes to Helen standing over him shaking his shoulder. Having fallen asleep on the sofa, he yawned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. She handed him his glasses and he put them on. "You have something?"

The dark-haired woman was fairly dancing with excitement as he got to his feet and followed her back to the lab. "The computer modeling finally came up with a solution." She handed him a tablet. "We'll need more of Mr. Nelson's blood, but I feel confident that we'll be able to cure his leukemia. As you can see, it will take a series of injections, and in that time, he must remain in isolation while the restructuring of his DNA takes place."

"In order to cure him, we'll have to destroy his immune system?"

Helen rushed forward to send the information to the holographic system. "First, we'll render the imperfect genes dormant then add the altered genes. If that works, his immune system won't have to be destroyed. If it does, we'll be resetting to zero, essentially rebuilding from the ground up. He doesn't have a gene that tells his system to keep the leukemia in check so we're giving it to him."

Bruce watched the display as it incorporated the alterations. An enlargement of one section showed the toxic cells being targeted and eliminated. "If this works, you'll have created a cure for leukemia. You may even get a Nobel Prize out of it."

Her excitement dimmed, and Bruce found it painful to watch. She looked down, shaking her head. "It's not a cure for mankind, Bruce. Just for Mr. Nelson. I've checked and rechecked the modeling. This solution won't work for everyone. The conditions have to be just right for it to work. The right dormant and/or missing genes, the patient has to be in the end stages of the disease, and it will only work for this form of leukemia. It's so rare, there have only been a dozen documented cases in the last hundred years."

With Helen on the verge of crying, Bruce searched for something to say that would make her feel better. Nothing came to mind so he put his arm around her shoulders, and she turned to face him, pressing her face into his shoulder. "I really wanted it to be a cure for everyone."

"I know."

The sound of the lift urged them apart. For just a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Helen's lips parted, almost as if she were inviting him to kiss her. But before either could put thought into action, the lift doors opened and Tony Stark burst into the room, shattering the moment. Bruce cleared his throat and stepped back. "I'll give Barton a call. Would you prefer to use the isolation room here or at your lab?"

Helen kept her eyes on the tablet in her hand for no reason except to avoid looking at either man. "Here is fine. I understand the subject lives in Manhattan."

Suddenly, Tony was standing between them, peering at the tablet in Helen's hands then the one in Bruce's before examining the holographic info floating in front of them, using a finger to spin the images so he could see them from all angles. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Bruce answered for both of them. "We were just finishing up."

"'Cause when I came in I saw…"

"Nothing, Tony." Bruce cast a quick glance at Helen who had moved to the other side of the lab and was avoiding looking at both men. To the room, he said, "Jarvis, call Agent Barton. Tell him to bring Mr. Nelson here as soon as possible. Just the clothes on his back. We'll provide everything else."

There was a pause, then Jarvis spoke. " _Agent Barton and his companion will arrive within the next two hours, traffic permitting, Dr. Banner._ "

To Tony, Bruce said, "Are you going to stay around to meet Barton's friend? I understand he's quite a character."

And as Bruce hoped, Tony beat a hasty retreat toward the lifts. "As much fun as that sounds, no. Pepper's on her way home from a board of directors meeting in Tokyo. She'll be here for two days then she's gone again for a month. We need a little quality time together before she leaves."

When Tony had gone, the tense atmosphere created by their near kiss returned. Helen looked at Bruce and away again. "The iso room will be ready when they arrive. Should I brief Mr. Nelson?"

"I can, if you like, or we can do it together."

Finally, she smiled, shyly, it seemed. "We should talk about what almost happened before Mr. Stark came in."

Bruce took off his glasses and turned to lay the tablet on the desk. "Let's not, and say we did."

Helen snorted. "Okay. I need to make a few calls."

His office door closed behind her and Bruce let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Though he would deny it if asked, in the back of his mind, he wondered what would've happened if Tony hadn't intruded.

 **Vermont**

It had been several days since Natasha awakened James from his own nightmare. He couldn't remember the details, just that it had left a lingering chill in his bones that the beer he'd drunk hadn't offset. But it did feel good to provide a comforting presence for her after all she'd done for him.

Over the days since then, he and Natasha had begun a routine. Tai Chi in the morning, breakfast, coffee, a hike, and back to the cabin for lunch. Reading or watching films in the evening, and off to bed. It suited James very well, helping to keep his mind calm, each day making him feel more… human was the only word he felt described this new sensation.

Prior to New York, James had experienced moments of humor and that involuntary pull toward the opposite sex. In the back of his mind, he felt they were two of the most important aspects of his personality that had been programmed out of him. Or had they? The fact that he was able to understand and react to these emotions now he saw as proof that he was no longer the cold-blooded killer he'd been made into. However, it didn't mean he wouldn't return to that state under the right circumstances. It wasn't something he wanted, but his captors had spent years altering his mind, character and personality. Everything that had made him the individual who had once gone by the name Bucky Barnes had been suppressed. Though he had no memory of it, he felt it was safe to assume that they'd refined the process over the years until he obeyed automatically when given an order. That is until the day he encountered a ghost from his past.

Try as he might, James could not recall what he was feeling at that moment. He wanted to, but the desire for something didn't automatically present a solution. Every time he tried to latch onto a memory, it flitted out of reach, or rather most of them did. Pain, numbing cold, anger, determination, and relentlessness were what dominated his conscious mind. Only in sleep did the walls come down. But they didn't stay down, and whatever he learned about his past vanished when he opened his eyes.

The skin around his left eye ached and he rubbed it with his right hand. Now that it had come to his attention, he could feel a pattern to the slight indention that extended around to his temple and into his hairline. Going to the mirror, he leaned close, fingering the spot, wondering what it meant. Something about it was familiar. He needed to do some research.

Out in the hall, James listened at Natasha's door. Hearing nothing, he made his way to the living room. She wasn't there either. Her boots were gone from their accustomed place next to his by the front door. Their absence meant she would be gone for a while.

He brought the computer out of power saver mode and stopped in the process of closing the tabs Natasha had left open. Apparently James wasn't the only one who was doing research, and along the same lines. The page that caught his eye defined and gave the history of repressed memories.

 _Repressed memories are hypothesized memories having been unconsciously blocked, due to the memory being associated with a high level of stress or trauma. The theory postulates that even though the individual cannot recall the memory, it may still be affecting them consciously._

 _The existence of repressed memories is a controversial topic in psychology; some studies have concluded that it can occur in victims of trauma, while others dispute it. According to some psychologists, repressed memories can be recovered through therapy. Other psychologists argue that this is in fact rather a process through which false memories are created by blending actual memories and outside influences. Furthermore, some psychologists believe that repressed memories are a cultural symptom because there is no written proof of their existence before the nineteenth century._

While it didn't adequately define his situation, it was close enough that Natasha had thought it important to look it up. The accepted recovered-memory therapies were hypnosis, guided-imagery and the use of sedative-hypnotic drugs.

Hypnosis, a state of consciousness where a person loses the power of voluntary action and becomes highly suggestible, didn't appeal to James on any level. He was done with having others' will imposed upon him. The use of sleeping pills would achieve the same result, but again, not something he wanted to try.

The third option, guided-imagery, the use of words and music to help the subject bring to mind positive scenarios seemed the least invasive, though how it differed from hypnosis wasn't clear. Perhaps one you could do alone, in the privacy of your room, and the other required another to be the instigator. For hypnosis, there had to be a level of trust. The one person in whom James placed the most trust was Natasha. Even so, he was still wary of allowing another to have control over his thoughts and actions. That left only one option: meditation. But before he searched how to do it, he opened a new tab and typed in "Bucky Barnes".

 **Brooklyn**

Clint hung up on Jarvis, searched his contact list and dialed Dooney's number. It went to voice mail. He left a message then sent a text to Rogers who was out on a run with Wilson, Hill and Santino. For a moment, Clint contemplated taking one of the vehicles, but changed his mind. He could run the few miles to Dooney's, and use one of his vehicles for the trip to Stark Tower.

His arrival at Dooney's apartment was uneventful. His friend was already at the curb in the Porsche's passenger seat. Clint hopped in, buckled up and they were off. Neither man said a word during the drive to midtown.

The valet at Stark Tower took possession of the Porsche, promising to treat it with reverence. On the trip up in the lift, Dooney tapped his heel on the floor, the only outward sign of nervousness. "What's the doc's name again?"

"Helen Cho. And don't worry. I've seen her and Banner work miracles." Dooney swayed on his feet, and Clint grabbed his arm to steady him. "You okay?"

His friend gave a slow head shake. "Had a bad night. Kiba was up and down with me, making tea and broth, rubbing my back while I puked. It went on so long, she wanted to call an ambulance. We finally fell asleep around four, I think. Then you come callin' at God knows what time. Tell me not to pack anything, not even a toothbrush. What's that all about?"

Clint stopped a smartass remark before it could be verbalized. "Doctor's orders. That's all I know."

Since the surgery to restore his hearing, Clint no longer felt his ears pop as the lift moved upward at an incredible speed, for which he was thankful to Cho and her team. Without them, he might be totally deaf now. He'd missed so much that he would never get back. Now if only Cho could do the same for his friend.

The lift came to a smooth stop and just before the doors opened, Dooney pushed away from Clint's support, preferring to meet Banner and Cho without a show of what he perceived as weakness. Not that Clint blamed him. He just hoped his friend would learn that leaning on others wasn't a character flaw or disadvantage. It was a lesson Clint had learned from Laura. And if he said it often enough, maybe one day Dooney would believe it. He was already partway there by letting Kiba stay with him.

"Dr. Cho, Dr. Banner, this is Duane Nelson."

Banner smiled and extended his hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. Nelson, though not under these circumstances."

"Dooney, please. Mr. Nelson is my father, wherever the hell the sonofa***** is."

Cho smiled and nodded, but didn't offer to shake hands. "If you'll come this way, we'll get started."

Though he tried to hide it, Dooney was suitably impressed by the lab, looking around the room like a tourist on holiday as he followed Cho down a short hallway to the outer room of the isolation area, Clint tagging along. She pressed her thumb to the DNA scanner and the door whooshed open. "If you'll step inside, we'll get started. I need you to get undressed, and put everything in the bio-hazard bag on the shelf, then place the bag in the pressurized containment. After that, take a shower and wash your hair using the special anti-bacterial shampoo and body wash provided. When you're done, put on the scrubs and have Jarvis call me. We'll begin with a full physical examination, including a stress test, if you feel up to it."

Dooney unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. "Why all the drama, doc? Thought this would be simple. Get a shot, do a few tests, and I'm good to go."

"Sorry if you got that impression, Mr. Nelson." Cho folded her hands in front of her, the tablet held in one hand. "Before we can _cure_ you, we have to _kill_ you."

 **TBC**


	5. Chapter 28

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **28**

 **Stark Tower**

Helen used her code to unlock the isolation room, amid protests from Barton and his friend, talking over each other, demanding an explanation. Bruce could see how Dooney might not get a scientist's brand of humor, but Barton knew better. He silenced them with a chopping motion, and blessed silence fell. "What Dr. Cho _meant_ is we may have to, in a sense, kill your _immune system_ in order to rebuild it."

Dooney had stopped in the act of taking off his shirt at Bruce's statement. Breathing a sigh of relief, he finished the job and sat down to take off his shoes and socks. "Had me scared there for a second, doc. I'm already gonna die. Don't wanna speed up the process."

The sound of stifled laughter turned into a cough came from Bruce's right. Dooney glared at Barton, silent communication passing between them.

Helen came up next to the archer, her eyebrows drawn together over her nose. "Please don't upset my patient, Agent Barton. His state of mind will be a factor in his recovery."

" _Me_ upset your patient? _You're_ the one who…" Barton broke off, apparently rethinking what he was going to say in front of Helen. Bruce felt a tsunami of resentment and outrage coming off Barton in the confined space of the hallway. Showing more restraint than he ever had in the past, Barton shot a glare at Helen, turned and stalked out of sight. "I'll be back."

Dooney rapped on the window to get their attention and gave them an apologetic shrug on Barton's behalf. "Ignore him, Dr. Cho." To Bruce, he said, "What about Big Brother?"

"No need to worry, Mr. Nelson," Helen broke in. "We won't start recording until the actual testing starts. One question: who is your next of kin?"

He chuckled and nodded in the direction Clint had gone. "That would be the man you just pissed off, darlin'."

"Oh." She entered the info into her tablet. "Once testing is complete, we'll want to begin the injections immediately. You haven't eaten anything today, have you? The blood work has to be fasting."

"No. In fact, everything I ate for dinner last night made a return appearance, much to my embarrassment." Bruce could see that Helen didn't understand the man's discomfiture, and was about to say so when Dooney saved him the trouble. "No man wants to puke in front of a beautiful woman, even if she is his… um, lady friend."

The man's demeanor reminded Bruce of Barton when they first met, before Loki had taken over his mind. He was a little more laidback then. And though he'd made great strides in the last two years, a spark of deep seated anger still showed itself now and then with good reason.

"We'll get started as soon has he's showered and dressed," Helen told Bruce as they returned to the lab. "From what I've observed so far, he'll be a contentious patient at best. If he's anything like Agent Barton, he won't like being restricted to iso."

"He'll just have to deal with it. If his immune system has to be deconstructed, he won't have a defense mechanism against even the everyday airborne bacteria and viruses. Also, we'll have the psychologist come in twice a week beginning Saturday. In the meantime, one of us can talk to him, find out his hobbies, what he likes to read, movies and television he likes to watch, and make certain he has plenty to keep him busy."

" _Dr. Cho, the lab indicates that they are ready for Mr. Nelson's specimens._ "

Most people looked up at the ceiling when speaking to Jarvis, but Helen kept her head down over her tablet. Bruce had tried it, but even though he couldn't make eye contact, he searched it out anyway.

"Thank you, Jarvis. Tell them I'll do the exam myself as well as procuring the samples for testing."

Alarms went off in Bruce's head. Helen hadn't dealt with live patients in some time, and may not know or remember what it's like to request certain samples from a man. "You better let me handle that, Helen."

She stared at him with those russet brown eyes, blinked twice, and nodded. "I'll give the computer modeling one last check in case refinements are necessary."

Relieved, Bruce went into his office to make a few notes and wait on Dooney's call. That call came within minutes via Jarvis. " _Dr. Banner, Mr. Nelson has advised that he's ready to begin_."

Under his breath, Bruce muttered, "Oh joy."

" _I beg your pardon, sir_?"

"Nothing." Heaving himself out of the chair, Bruce headed back to the isolation area.

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 **Sheriff's Office**

After one last check in the rear view mirror, Kiba straightened her name tag, gave her badge another quick shine, breathed deeply a few times and got out of the car she purchased just the day before with funds that had been put into her account from an anonymous source. She'd called Steve, and she got the feeling he knew where the money had come from, but couldn't, or wouldn't, say. Hill had been on the call too, and her advice was to take the money and run. And so Kiba did, all the way to South Dakota.

Kiba had returned to Dooney's apartment to find him gone, with just a note telling her he'd be "away" for a while, and that she was welcome to stay. It made her decision to take the position with the sheriff's office easier. She too left a note letting him know why she was leaving without giving details. With his connections, Dooney would be able to find her easy enough, if he wanted to. The decision was up to him.

On the way into the station, Kiba slapped a dark brown cap on her head. Four other deputies, all male, were sitting at desks, hard at work. Two were on the computer, one was making coffee, and the third was on the phone. On the way from the motel, she'd stopped at a donut shop for a box of pastries as an offering to her new co-workers. Holding the box in front of her, she smiled. "Mornin', boys. I brought goodies."

The guy on the phone waved her over. She opened the box and let him take one, which he did without missing a beat in his conversation. "I _understand_ what you're saying, Caleb. But like I've told you before, we don't handle that sort of emergency… Because we're _cops_ , not veterinarians. If your prize bull won't mate with the new heifers, call Doc Morgan… Then he's probably out at the old Anderson place getting to know the new owners and their herd… Good- _bye_ , Caleb."

Frank Boyston had broad shoulders, a buzz cut, a scar on his right cheek, and a gold wedding band on his left hand. His expression said he'd passed exasperation and was headed for the next level up. To Kiba, the man was lucky that's all this Caleb guy had called about, because, if the worst problem this town had was a gay bull, then Kiba was in the right place.

The other deputies' names were Will Davenport, a brown-haired man in his late thirties, over six feet, lean and strong, and Rick Alvarez, Hispanic, young, ambitious, and single. He'd made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be the first Hispanic sheriff in Sioux Falls.

When Kiba had come for her interview, Rick had hit on her relentlessly until Sheriff Mills shut him down. She didn't know what Mills said to the man, but it must've worked because the unwanted attention had stopped. She hadn't really needed the sheriff's help. If Alvarez had been a problem instead of a simple annoyance, Kiba would've handled it on her own. On the upside, she didn't have to. As long as he didn't harbor a grudge for the sheriff's interference and take it out on her. They did have to work together after all.

There were other deputies that Kiba hadn't met yet as they were out in the field or worked graveyard. Their photos were posted on the bulletin board so she at least had names and faces. Vince Franco, Hal Simon, Kevin Broderick, Julie Michelson, Elyze Collier, Bobby Leblanc, Sherri Gilbert, Harry Fisher, Mohammad Bishwas, David Cohen, Margaret Sato, and Tommy Reyes. Kiba looked forward to getting to know all of them.

Unlike most law enforcement offices, this one didn't have a dispatcher. Everyone, except Mills, took a turn. Once Kiba knew her way around, she expected to have her name added to the rotation. Kiba set the pastries next to the coffee station and knocked on Mills' office.

" _Come in._ "

Mills looked up from her computer with a smile. She stood to shake hands. "You made it. Have a seat. Find a place to live?"

"Not yet. It'll have to be soon though. Can't live at the motel forever."

"I'll have a word with the owner. She'll give you a break until you find something." The sheriff sat down and picked up a file folder. "I've made the changes to your paperwork. It just needs your signature."

"Thanks, Sheriff. I decided just last week to go back to my maiden name." Kiba signed where indicated and added a copy of the court documents showing that her name had been legally changed from Kiba Sparks Hardison to Kiba Arwen Sparks again. "It'll take some getting used to."

The bland smile Mills had worn since Kiba entered her office faded somewhat. "Your husband died?"

"Yes. We were only married for six months when he was killed in an avalanche in Aspen. Didn't find his body until the following spring. He survived two tours in Iraq only to be killed on vacation."

"Rough." Pushing back from the desk, Mills stood and Kiba did as well, following the sheriff out to the bullpen. She waved to Davenport and he joined them. "I'm putting you with Davenport until you get to know the area."

Mills returned to her office and closed the door. Kiba was average height for a woman, yet Davenport towered over her. They'd make quite a pair walking down the street. A set of keys dangled in front of her face. "Come on, rookie. Time to make the rounds."

"You want _me_ to drive?" she called out as she hustled to keep up.

Davenport climbed in the passenger side, pushed the seat all the way back and put on his seat belt. "Learn by doing, Sparks." Kiba buckled her seat belt and started the Ranger Rover. Her partner pointed over his shoulder. "Head east on Main Street. We'll cruise on over to Java Hut before making our rounds. I'm buying."

Kiba snorted. "Of course you are." She drove down the street a few blocks, turned into the Java Hut parking lot and shut off the engine. The space next to the coffee shop was boarded up. The faded sign said Rose Avenue Diner. It would be a great place for a bookstore, however, the industry was taking a beating from eReaders. At one time, Kiba had thought about opening a combination bookstore and coffee shop, but that dream died when her mother got sick. Her father had died three years before in a car accident. The life insurance money had gone to pay Mom's medical expenses leaving nothing with which to pay for college, her motivation for enlisting in the Army.

Davenport held the door and followed her in. The shop was less than half full, the customers either reading a book or typing away on their laptops.

An attractive African-American woman had just finished ringing up an order when she noticed them. She waved and the affectionate smile was for Davenport. "Cam, honey, I'd like you to meet our new deputy, Kiba Sparks. Sparks, Camilla Barlow is the owner of this here fine establishment. She's also my beautiful wife."

The women shook hands. "Please call me Cam, Deputy Sparks."

Kiba liked Cam immediately. She was friendly, outgoing and very obviously in love with her husband. "Only if you call me Kiba."

"Deal. So, what can I get for two of Sioux Falls' finest? On the house."

Davenport leaned on the counter. "The usual for me. Sparks?"

"The same." The deputies emerged into the morning sun, each with a cardboard cup in their hand. Kiba took a sip while looking at Davenport from the corner of her eye. "Never would've pegged you as a latte man."

He opened the passenger door and got in. "I like them. So sue me."

The cruiser's engine revved and Kiba turned on the radio. "Just means we have at least one thing in common." She pulled into traffic going east. "Where're we headed?"

"Past the high school. Kids won't stay in class during the school year. Summer comes around, and they're constantly breaking in. On the way, I'll get you caught up on the who's who of Sioux Falls. Maybe even show you where some of the bodies are buried. Figuratively speaking, of course."

The dash computer beeped to let her know to make a right at the next light. Kiba flipped on the signal and made the turn. "Can't wait."

 **Vermont**

Ever since the dream, Natasha couldn't get the Red Room out of her mind. It invaded her consciousness without warning, causing her to snap at Barnes for no reason. He seemed to understand and didn't take offense when given the cold shoulder or was hit with a scathing insult in English or Russian.

Her waking dreams centered on the ballet lessons. Of repeating the same moves over and over until they were perfect according to Madame B's exacting standards. One such occasion involved hours of pirouettes and _jeté en avant grand_ , with _arabesques_ inserted at random moments. By the time the matron was satisfied, Natasha's legs were so sore she could barely walk, and she was too exhausted to eat. She crawled into bed, still in her white leotard, and went right to sleep.

Endeavoring to quell the disruption to the poise and composure she normally enjoyed, Natasha moved the furniture and rugs against the walls and turned on a piece to which she'd once danced. Feet and hands in first position, she waited for her cue, mentally counting the beats.

And then… she began to dance.

~~O~~

After their morning walk, James had gone into his room to read. Immersing himself in another world, giving his mind something else to occupy it seemed the only way to keep his demons from taking over in unguarded moments.

An unknown amount of time later, he'd come outside when cool air had hit him in the face, and a sudden feeling of being trapped in a small, enclosed space, ice in his hair and his skin came over him. The claustrophobia lessened somewhat under the late afternoon sky as the sun dropped behind the canopy of trees. The spinning wheels inside his head slowed, but didn't stop completely.

Moving into the starting position, James began the Tai Chi routine they performed each morning. He stopped halfway through Stand Up and Hit Tiger when music came through the open window, drawing him in. It was nothing like what they'd listened to in the time Natasha and he had been in this place. The melody ebbed and flowed around him as he climbed the steps to the porch.

Through the window he could see Natasha moving gracefully about the room, her movements delicate and flowing, what he thought of as sensual. His gaze was transfixed on her movements, wanting to be in there with her, not watching from the outside. She spun on one foot, leaped and pranced around the room, at times with her eyes closed, enraptured.

Eventually, the end came with her on the floor, head bent and arms crossed over her chest. The music faded away, the final note hanging in the air like the last rays of the sun. Slowly, Natasha's head came up, her eyes locking with his. She smiled and James knew that she knew he'd been watching, and thinking thoughts that had no place here.

Natasha didn't appear to be angry with him. On the contrary, the impression he got was one of satisfaction that she'd managed to captivate him so thoroughly. He should've been apologetic for his actions, but he wasn't.

This event reminded him of a time when he'd danced with someone. Looking down at his hands, he could almost feel the curve of the woman's waist and hip, warm against his palms and fingers, and the texture of her clothing as they moved slowly together. Sometimes moving fast, but always touching, if only their hands. A melody echoed inside his head, as if he were hearing it from far away, the words nearly obscured by time and distance.

Closing his eyes, James concentrated, and soon, he could hear brassy metallic notes overlaid with piano, drums and even violins, and the words became clear. His head moved in time to the music.

The tune screeched to stop at the sound of the door opening. James blinked himself to the present and found Natasha standing in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, and all her weight on her left foot, the other hand on her waist. It thrust her hip out to the side and his fingers twitched as he wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms. He'd done so when they were running from the hospital explosion, but that had been necessary to ensure their survival. Now, he wanted to do it for a much more personal reason. One side of her mouth turned upward, and again, it seemed as if she were reading his mind.

"A voyeurism conviction carries a maximum sentence of ten years. Really want to risk jail time by peeking in windows, Barnes?"

James thought over her remarks and came to the conclusion that she was teasing him. But what his response should be, he wasn't certain. He thought about a film they'd watched a few nights ago-Natasha called it a romcom, a romantic comedy-and how the male lead had reacted to similar banter from the female lead. Something playful, accompanied by a charming smile seemed appropriate. Crossing his arms, he smiled and said, "Totally worth it."

His remark startled a laugh out of Natasha as he intended. "Listen to _you_ , gettin' all flirty." She turned and went back inside. "Not bad. Let's start dinner so I can take a long hot bubble bath with candles, a good book and a bottle of wine."

James followed Natasha into the kitchen. He seldom initiated conversation, but today was different. "What are we making?"

"Something Russian, maybe." She looked at him over her shoulder. "Unless it brings up bad memories."

He shook his head, and took down the cutting boards just as he did every day. "When I was awake, I was given a thick liquid to drink. I don't know what was in it."

If she was surprised that he'd shared a memory with her, she didn't show it as she carried an armful of vegetables to the counter. James caught several potatoes that fell from her grasp and set them on the counter. She passed him a knife. "Chop the leeks and onion, peel and dice the potatoes, and slice the carrots and mushrooms."

"What will _you_ be doing?"

"Making dessert. It's a surprise." Pausing in his chopping, James looked over at Natasha, and she gave him a sheepish grin. "Fine. It's a surprise because I haven't decided what to make yet."

Amazed that he actually felt amusement at their conversation, James returned to preparing the food.

~~O~~

While the soup was simmering, Natasha went into the bathroom with candles, placing them around the room, and laying the fire starter on the counter with the novel she was reading. The wine was "breathing" on the dining room table. If Barnes wanted a glass with dinner, she would have one as well, and drink what was left during her bath.

She used the remote to choose music for dinner, settling on a selection of instrumental tunes from the forties with soothing melodies that wouldn't interfere with conversation. Now that Barnes was speaking up occasionally, even bantering, she wanted to keep it going, keep giving the boundaries a gentle push until he felt ready to rejoin society. No matter how long it took, she would be here for him.

Any communication with the outside world was done through texting or email that was routed through an anonymous server. Each day, she received at least one email from Steve. Clint had been texting her numerous times a day. However, the last few days, he'd only sent one or two texts that gave her the impression something was going on he wanted to tell her about yet didn't. Being out of touch had its advantages... and its disadvantages. Being out of the loop was one of them. She went into her room just to be alone for a few minutes.

Returning to the kitchen to check on dinner, Natasha was stunned to see Barnes at the stove stirring the pot. He'd also set the table and poured them each a glass of wine. Backing up, she opened and closed the bedroom door so he would hear her coming in case he hadn't wanted to be seen.

Sure enough, when she peeked around the corner, Barnes was standing in the front doorway as if he'd been there all along. With an internal smile, Natasha turned the stove off and removed the pot from the burner. The ladle and two bowls were on the counter to the right of the stove. She filled the bowls, and when she turned to put them on the table, Barnes was there. Not many people could sneak up on her, and it bothered her just a little that he'd done it.

Barnes took the bowls and set them on the table. Instead of sitting down as he usually did, he waited for her to sit before doing so. Sometimes Natasha had to remind him to put the napkin in his lap, but not tonight. It made her wonder what he was thinking.

Every night since arriving, they ate in silence. Natasha wanted tonight to be different. Barnes had already shown that he wasn't as tightly wound as he had been. She sipped her wine, slanting her eyes to the side only to find him watching her. The glass was returned to its place at her two o'clock and she picked up the spoon. "So, Barnes. When's your birthday?"

He looked at her without blinking, as if he hadn't expected her to speak. "Why?"

"Curious."

Using his spoon to stir the soup, he looked down at his bowl. "Don't remember."

The flat tone of his voice made her throat ache for all the things he'd lost, his entire life before HYDRA. "You will. Someday."

"How?"

He was sitting to her left, and she reached out to touch him on the hand. His head came up at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away. "We'll work it out." She smiled. "Together."

After a moment's thought, Barnes' shoulders relaxed just a bit. He nodded, and went back to eating. A few minutes later, he took a long sip of the wine and set the glass down, surprising her again by asking, "When is yours?"

"Not for a while yet. November 22nd." A strange look came into his eyes telling her that he thought the date was familiar. Using her fork to spear a bite of salad, Natasha waved the food in the air. "We celebrate Thanksgiving around that time. Makes for some odd birthday parties." She chewed the bite of salad and sipped more of the wine before continuing. "In Russia, traditional birthday meals involve fish and Pirozhkis, and pies instead of cake. Until I came to America, I hadn't celebrated my birthday for many years. After joining SHIELD, Clint insisted we do so every year. He makes a chocolate ganache cake that tastes like you've died and gone to chocolate heaven."

"Clint?"

Natasha felt herself smiling affectionately. "Clint Barton. My best friend."

"Not your…"

"Lover? No. Nothing like that. He was sent to kill me." She glanced up to see his reaction, a slight tightening around the eyes and mouth. "Instead, Clint offered friendship and a chance to work for the good guys. SHIELD." Her smile became sad. "At least we _used_ to be the good guys. HYDRA sent SHIELD's rep through the shredder." Snatching up her glass, she drained the last of the wine, her appetite gone. She pushed back from the table and grabbed the dark green bottle. The label was black and maroon with an arrow at the top, the logo of her favorite wine made by Forbidden Peak Vineyards. "I'm taking a bath. We'll have dessert later."

In the bathroom, Natasha poured a generous amount of foaming bath salts into the water, making it bubble. She filled her glass with wine and set both the glass and bottle within easy reach of the tub next to the book. She used the fire starter to light the candles, switched out the light and got undressed. The water was so hot, the mirror had already begun to steam up before she stepped into the tub. A long sigh of pleasure echoed in the tiled room as she lowered her body into the water. Though her plan was to read her novel, she left it alone for now.

Closing her eyes, she picked up the glass and took a sip of the wine, letting it slide down her throat, imagining she were anywhere else. Even Budapest would be a better choice. She didn't blame Barnes. It wasn't his fault that all hell had broken loose in D.C. And it _was_ her idea to come to a place where he could just be whomever he was until he became the person he wanted to be.

Moving her hands through the water created small ripples that danced and floated over her bare skin, relaxing the muscles and calming her mind. Soon, her eyelids became heavy. She finished the wine and set the glass out of the way, and closed her eyes.

 **Brooklyn**

Santino lounged against the fireplace, Wilson had taken Clint's place in the window seat, one foot up and the other on the floor, and Hill next to Rogers on the sofa, engrossed in the story he was telling.

"…That's pretty much it. Hardison is staying at Dooney's for now, and I'll be back and forth from Banner's lab. Might just crash on Dooney's sofa."

Clint leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, waiting for someone to say something. Rogers looked from one to the other, none of them seeming to have an opinion.

Shifting back in his seat, Rogers came to a decision. "The rent's paid up through the end of the month if anyone wants to stay. Otherwise, head on home and we'll keep you informed."

Pushing off the wall, Clint crossed his arms. "Works for me. By the way, Hill, I've offered Santino a job with SHIELD. Hasn't given me an answer yet."

Rogers, Sam and Hill all looked at the ex-Marine waiting for him to speak. Santino met each set of eyes, took a deep breath and let it out. Then, he smiled. "When do I start?"

Though her expression stayed blank, Hill's eyes sparkled the way they did when she was enormously pleased about something. Getting to her feet, she stuck out her hand. "Welcome to SHIELD, Probationary Agent Santino. Wilson, see to it he gets to the interim training facility no later than Monday."

Sam flipped a mocking salute at Hill. "Yes, ma'am. Um, where's that again? The Triskelion's toast."

Clint took out his phone and beamed information to Sam's phone. "There's a temporary brick and mortar facility in Quantico. I just sent you the address."

"Got it. Let's hit the road, Santino. We need to make a stop at the Cave on the way."

"The Cave?" Santino inquired with a frown.

Rogers crossed his arms and grinned. "SHIELD gives all their bases ridiculous names. In this case, it's descriptive."

The two men ran up the stairs two at a time, their voices echoing in the hall until their doors closed behind them.

Clint turned to Rogers and Hill. Something had changed in the last few days to go by the way they were looking at each other. And if Clint had to guess, he'd say they still hadn't gotten around to the pelvic polka, though closer than before. By mutual unspoken agreement, none of them had brought up the condom water balloon incident, for which Clint was thankful.

Rogers' smile faded somewhat. "I'm going to hang around for a few days in case Natasha calls. Since we don't know where she's taken Bucky, Brooklyn is as good a place to as any other."

Hill nudged his arm. "I'll stay too. Keep you company."

"That's not necessary, Maria. I'll be fine alone."

Fighting an eye roll, Clint wanted to tell them to get down to it, but sensed his advice would not be welcome. "Then I'm out o' here."

As he climbed up to the second floor, Clint heard a strange sound. A few seconds later, he heard it again. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he listened, and when he heard it the third time, he finally figured out what it was. Hill was _laughing_ , not out of politeness as was her habit. This was the real thing. Uninhibited and spontaneous. Grinning, Clint continued up to the attic. Rogers was good for her, and he wished them the best.

 **Later That Night**

Sitting in the den, Steve listened to the building creaking with age and the wind. He also heard Maria moving around as she performed a set of floor exercises. Soon, that stopped and the water came on in the shower across the hall. He'd already taken a shower and now sat on the sofa in his pajama pants and t-shirt, attempting to finish the novel he'd been reading since they arrived. Listening to the water run filled him with thoughts he no longer deemed inappropriate, and Maria was always the focus of those thoughts, interrupting his concentration.

The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, her footsteps crossed the hall to her room. The door closed, and the creak and squeak of the bedsprings followed. Steve went back to reading until his attention was once again diverted by more creaking. Maria was restless tonight, and he wondered if she was thinking about him the way he thought about her nearly every waking moment, and sometimes while sleeping.

Just this morning, he admitted to himself that he loved her, and each time he started to tell her, the moment never seemed right. Maybe now that they were truly alone, he would be able to verbalize his feelings. One of the things holding him back was the unknown. Did she feel the same? Maria was hard to read at the best of times, though she seldom kept anyone in the dark about her opinions and thoughts, except where her emotions were concerned. Well, tonight he would find out.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode purposefully to Maria's door. With his hand raised to knock, his confidence deserted him as he was beset by what ifs. Still, he had to know. But before he could follow through with the knock, the door opened and Maria stood in the doorway wearing just a t-shirt. He only had a moment to recognize that it was _his_ shirt, the one he'd given her to wear the night they got caught in the rain.

Steve smiled. She answered with one of her own, and suddenly they were in each other's arms, hunger and so much more in their kiss. With his hands on her waist, and without their mouths losing contact, he walked Maria backward into the room, and kicked the door shut with his foot.

 **TBC**


	6. Chapter 29

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

 **WARNING:** This chapter may contain content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **29**

 **Dooney's Apartment**

 **Lower Manhattan**

Clint let himself into the apartment, tossed his bag in a chair and went to the kitchen for a bottle of beer. "Hardison? You awake? I'm bunking on the sofa for a few days." There was no answer. Thinking she was asleep, he tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. Empty. The door to the master bedroom was open, and Clint walked toward it, listening for sounds of sleeping or the water running in case she was in the shower.

"Hardison?" The room was empty, the bed neatly made. Illuminated by the lamp on the bedside table, he found two notes. One was addressed to him, just a sheet of paper with a few words on it. The second was in a sealed envelope with Dooney's name neatly printed on the front. Because she wasn't there and her belongings were gone, Clint guessed that the note to Dooney explained her absence. He carried the envelope to the living room and set it by the front door to take with him the next time he went to Stark Tower.

His stomach grumbled. A noisy reminder that he hadn't eaten since morning. He made himself a sandwich, and carried it and the beer to the living room sofa, and turned on the television. Scrolling through Netflix, he found a movie he hadn't seen and settled in to watch.

 **Stark Tower**

Lying in bed, Dooney stared at the ceiling. Banner had come in after his shower, dressed head to foot in a white suit that made him look like a rabbit without ears. He took blood, saliva and hair samples, and with an apologetic smile, handed him a bottle with a blue top. At first, Dooney had balked. What could they possibly need _that_ for? Once Banner explained, he was okay with it. Now he was waiting for the doctors to come in and get started.

The disembodied voice they called Jarvis had a meal sent to him by an unknown person who pushed the food through a slot under the window. That was a couple of hours ago. Dooney didn't like being on display, but it was better than the alternative. And he could close the curtains anytime he wanted though that didn't stop the cameras from watching. He supposed he could ask for some alone time.

On the table to his left sat a remote that put the most technologically forward universal remote on the market to shame. According to Banner, it did everything but cook, clean and gas up your car. He grabbed it and turned on the sci-fi channel. Until recently, he'd harbored a dislike for science fiction, fantasy, horror or films and television that dealt with the supernatural, but lately, he'd changed that opinion. And though he told himself it was a personal choice, that wasn't true. But admitting that a woman he'd only met a few weeks ago had so much influence over him was more than he could deal with at the moment. Yes, he was in denial, but then who wasn't at one time or another?

Settling on a series about a man descended from a line of guardians charged with keeping balance between humanity and the mythological creatures of the world, Dooney rested the remote on his stomach and laced his hands behind his head.

A few minutes into the fourth episode, the chime announced someone at the door. Dooney click the television off and sat up. "Come in."

Banner entered through the airlock accompanied by Cho holding an IV bag and a syringe. "We're ready to begin, Mr. Nelson. This can be done one of two ways. The injections have to be administered intravenously. An IV can be inserted to avoid having your arm stuck every few days in alternating arms. Your choice."

"Uh, yeah. No IV."

Cho looped a tourniquet around Dooney's bicep and cleansed the inside of the elbow. "This may hurt a little." Holding the syringe in her right hand, she pushed the needle into his vein and pressed the plunger. "These first few injections are designed to render specific genetic expressions dormant. After that, we'll perform more tests. If all goes well, then we'll insert the necessary components to tell your body to destroy the leukemia. If not, we'll move on to the destruction of your immune system, then remake it with the corrections."

"Side effects?"

Holding the tablet and making notes, Banner glanced at him and back to the screen. "We're not completely certain. You could experience headaches, nausea, dizziness, drowsiness, hallucinations, reduced or increased appetite, dry mouth, muscle cramps… You get the idea. If you experience any unusual symptoms, have Jarvis contact one of us immediately."

Dooney nodded, one hand rubbing his belly. "Will do. Say, any way I can get another snack? I'm a bit peckish."

"Of course. Jarvis?" The doctors left, their heads together, speaking in whispers.

" _What would you care for, Mr. Nelson_?"

It still unnerved him, talking to the ceiling, but he was beginning to like it as well. "Something sweet and not too heavy, and a glass of wine to go with it."

" _Alcohol is contraindicated during your course of treatment, sir_."

Taking the denial in stride, Dooney reached for the remote and flicked on the television. "Milk then. The real thing. Not that soy or lactose free crap."

" _As you wish._ "

 **Vermont**

Natasha sat up with a start, splashing water over the sides of the tub onto the floor. The water had cooled, chilling her skin. She pulled the plug, and pushed to her feet, reaching for the fluffy bath towel hanging on the rod beside the tub, blotting the wetness from her face before wrapping it around her.

Stepping over the side, she took another towel from the hamper and spread it on the floor to soak up the mess. Two of the candles had gone out. She blew out the rest, picked up the wine bottle and carried it to the kitchen. For a moment, she was tempted to finish it off. Instead, she used a wine stopper to close it up and put it away.

A floorboard creaked, and a weapon appeared in her hands. The sound wasn't repeated, but Natasha didn't relax even after she'd checked every room, except the one where Barnes slept.

At the desk, she set the weapon within easy reach to perform a systems check. The alarms had been set. She hadn't done it before her bath. That left Barnes, but how could he know the code? Per protocol, she'd changed it the day they arrived, and hadn't shared the code with her companion.

She tapped a few commands, bringing up the logs. Her code had been used to lock everything down. The thought of rousting Barnes out of bed for an explanation briefly flickered through her consciousness. Shaking her head, she decided morning was soon enough to confront him, and find out how he got the code.

As she was about to head to bed, another sound intruded, the scuff of a foot on the carpet behind her. In a flash, the weapon, a Makarov, was back in Natasha's hand. She spun around to confront the intruder, coming face to face with Barnes. As she turned, the towel snagged on a partially open drawer, and dropped to her feet.

His eyes widened, and he immediately faced the other direction, seemingly embarrassed. A stray breeze hit her still damp skin, making her shiver. She engaged the weapon's safety and set it on the desk. With an internal smirk, she retrieved the towel and covered herself again. "You can turn around now. I'm decent."

Hesitantly, he glanced over his shoulder then turned, keeping his eyes on her face, and not speaking.

"This is _not_ the first time you've seen a woman naked."

Barnes tilted his head as if listening to voices only he could hear. Natasha had seen him do just that on many occasions, when trying to remember. "I-I don't…"

The pain in his expression dampened the small amount of humor in her tone. He was distressed, and here she was teasing him. "Never mind. Get some sleep."

With a short nod, he stepped aside to let her pass, trailing her to the hallway where he waited until she'd gone into her room and closed the door. She listened until she heard his door shut, slightly taken aback when the lock clicked. He couldn't be afraid, not of her. Or was he afraid _for_ her? He was troubled by chaotic thoughts that haunted him day and night. Natasha knew what it was like to question not only yourself, but everyone around you. In that way, she and Barnes were alike. Neither of them had examined their orders or their perceptions until challenged by another. For her, it had been Clint. For Barnes, it was Steve.

Choosing to leave the debate for another time, Natasha tossed the towel over a chair and put on her pajamas. Standing in front of the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair. The ends of the back and sides were still wet. It would be frizzy in the morning, but she didn't care. She lay down under the covers, switched out the light and rolled onto her side to look out the window.

 **Midnight**

 **Stark Tower**

With Bruce out of the lab, it fell to Helen to do the follow-up exam on their patient. She gathered her hair into a ponytail, wrapped it around and secured it with a pin before climbing into her cleanroom suit. At the door, she activated the intercom. "Mr. Nelson?"

" _Yeah_?"

The curtains were closed so she couldn't see him. He sounded distracted, and sleepy. Jarvis was monitoring his vitals, but she preferred to see for herself. "May I come in?"

" _Would it matter if I said no_?"

"Not really."

She heard a long sigh and the crinkle of the mattress as he moved. " _Then be my guest_."

Flipping up the suit's hood, she closed the seal and entered the airlock. After a chemical bath designed to eliminate any germs on the suit's surface, she opened the inner door and stepped into the room. "This experiment is being done at your request. Someone has to check on you every few hours, Mr. Nelson. Why wouldn't you cooperate?"

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead in irritation. "Wasn't _me_ that asked for it. Barton's the one with the big ideas."

Helen looked at him then back to the computer's records of the last few hours. "You came here willingly, and you _do_ want to live, correct?"

Another sigh, and a nod. "Yeah. I just didn't realize I'd be cooped up in a room the whole time."

"I know you're bored and not a little frustrated. Probably feeling claustrophobic as well…"

He lay down and laced his hands behind his head. "That's puttin' it mildly. This _really_ gonna take a full month?"

Helen nodded as she took out a small flashlight to check his pupil reactions. "Give or take. Could be as little as two weeks. It all depends on how you respond." She made notes on the screen next to the bed. "Is there somewhere you have to be?"

His shrug was meant to be nonchalant, but she could see the underlying seriousness in his eyes. "Yes and no."

Dooney didn't elaborate so she left it alone. Taking out a giant cotton swab, she held it out. "Open." She rubbed the soft end over the inside of his cheek and closed the cover to preserve the specimen. "That's it for now. We may need to take blood tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Nelson. Jarvis will notify Dr. Banner or myself if you have any questions or experience unusual symptoms."

"Okay, doc."

Out in the hall, Helen removed the hood on her way to the store room, her blood pounding with excitement. Dooney had responded so well to the first two injections, it may not be necessary to obliterate his immune system. The lab would have the results ready in just a few hours. In the interim, she would have a meal and catch up on work. She wanted to wake Bruce, to share her eagerness for the results so far. But after working tirelessly on this project with her, he deserved some time off.

~~O~~

Dooney sat up and watched Cho leave without a word of encouragement or support, making him feel like nothing more than an interesting test subject. Banner, not as much. Probably the difference in their personalities. Banner had more experience with live patients, that much was certain.

And Cho was right. He _did_ want to live, get married, have kids and grow old with the woman he loved with all his heart. Maybe that was Kiba. Maybe it wasn't. He wanted the chance to find out once this crap was over and he was healthy again.

Suddenly tired, Dooney lay back down and went to sleep. Hours later, he awoke when Banner came in with another injection. He waited until the doctor had gone to get up and go into the bathroom. After taking care of business, he washed his hands and splashed water on his face to try to wake up, but it didn't help. Holding onto whatever was handy, he made it back to the bed and lay down again. Cool air from the vent made him shiver. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes, wishing that it was all over.

 **Brooklyn**

 **Noon**

Lying on his stomach, face pushed into the pillow, Steve felt a tickle along his right side. It stopped, and he was about to go to back to sleep when he felt it again. This time, a little lower, close to his hip. It kept going, trailing up his side to his ribs where it dug in.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned while his brain worked through its morning restart. Looking around, he noticed that he was on a bed instead of the floor where he usually slept. In front of him was a bedside table with a Victorian style lamp, a thick novel, and a cell phone that wasn't his. The tickle stopped and his heart finally pumped enough oxygenated blood to his brain for him to bring up memories of the previous night.

Rising up on his elbows, he looked around and found Maria propped against the headboard with a pillow behind her back, knees and the sheet drawn up to her chest, forearms on her knees. Her dark hair was sleep tousled, fluffing out around her head, and she was smiling the way she had after introducing him to third base. Like she'd found the answer to a deep dark mystery that had been eluding her.

Turning onto his side, Steve propped his head up with his left hand and returned her smile. "Morning."

She rolled her eyes. "Thought you were going to sleep all day."

Steve held out his hand and she took it. "Only if I can sleep with you." He tugged, and she slid down, rolling onto her side facing him, her fingers brushing through his hair. Her leg came up and over, hooking behind his thigh and pulling them tightly against each other, the contact reigniting the heat. She kissed him, and he returned it as he turned onto his back taking her with him so she was looking down at him. His hands skimmed along her ribs, the dip in her waist and the curve of her hips, stopping to caress the outside of her thighs.

Maria sighed, and he did as well, and before long, they were awash in a sea of desire so deep Steve thought his feet would never touch bottom again. Then, he was flying, and Maria was right there with him, giving and taking, both equal partners in the most passionate of dances. And when the end came, they were in perfect synchronicity.

She leaned forward, bringing her left leg over, dropping it between his thighs, and lay down so that she was draped over him. Their chests pushed against each other as their breathing slowly returned to normal. One hand lay in the middle of her back. Moving it slightly, the touch of skin with the hint of sweat once again caused him to want her.

Then, her stomach growled like a jungle cat stalking its prey. Maria lifted her head, looking into his eyes, and they both laughed. Steve kissed her and held her tight. "Let's feed that thing before it goes hunting."

For an answer, Maria snuggled deeper into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, and sighed, a long wavering sound that could've been mistaken by some for a moan of pleasure. And maybe it was. They would have to do this a few more times for him to be sure. At least that's what he told himself.

"In a minute. Mmm. You make a _fantastic_ mattress."

"And _you_ are an incredible…" he raised her hand and kissed the knuckles, "…blanket."

A few minutes later, Maria climbed over him, onto the floor. She tried to keep hold of the sheet, but Steve wouldn't let go. Over her shoulder, she mock glared at him, and walked to the door, flashing him a smile, inviting him to follow her.

He threw off the sheet and gave chase, catching up to her at the bathroom door. Soon, they were in the shower together, the spray cascading over their sweat slicked bodies.

~~O~~

Sitting propped against the headboard, Maria watched Steve sleep. For a man who had never made love to a woman before, he certainly knew what he wanted to give her and ask for himself. He'd played her like a violin, coaxing a tune from her body that sent her soaring into the clouds like no man had before. Their merging had been frenzied the first time, both of them hungry for something they'd only tasted.

Rolling her eyes at the cliché, Maria decided Steve had slept long enough. Extending her foot, she poked him with her toes in that slightly ticklish spot on his side. He stirred, but didn't wake up. She did it again, harder, moving her foot up to his ribs and digging her toes in.

He rolled over and reached out to her, his eyes going dark like clouds just before a storm when their bodies glided against each other, the friction only slightly allayed by the thin layer of sweat from the night before.

Hunger burned bright, and before long, they were dancing to a tune older than time. Steve worked magic on her body and soul, lighting her up, making her feel weightless while burning from the inside out.

There was so much she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him that it had been years since she'd allowed a man to get this close, physically, and especially emotionally. That he'd managed to manipulate her so well she vibrated, and that she was so close to the edge, all it would take was a brief touch at just the right moment to send her into freefall. Then they moved together, and she lost all sense of time and space.

Afterward, she lay over him, unable to make her limbs obey her commands. Then, her stomach growled, piercing the veil of arousal that had begun once more. Steve laughed and she did too.

Maria was more than hungry. She felt as if she hadn't eaten in days instead of hours. Most likely due to her increased metabolism from the transfusion. Food, usually an afterthought, had worked its way to the top of her daily To-Do list.

She wanted to stay just like this, but also knew that if they didn't get up soon, they'd likely stay right here for the rest of the day. However, life waited for them just outside the walls of the brownstone, and it was time to get back to it.

Sliding off Steve and the bed, just for a moment, she felt self-conscious about letting him see her naked in the light of day. But when he wouldn't let go of the sheet, she thought, _Oh, what the hell_?

With a grin, she went to the door, crooking her finger. Steve leapt out of bed, catching up to her at the bathroom door. Together, they got into the shower where they enjoyed themselves and each other one more time, using the water to create a slippery layer between them. He lifted her up so she could wrap herself around him, their movements eliciting a gasp of pleasure, echoing it back before ravaging her mouth while she returned the favor.

Eventually, her body stopped shaking, and Steve, always a gentleman, anchored her to reality until she could stand on her own.

Then, without a word, Steve squirted shampoo into his hand and worked it through her hair, massaging the scalp, making it tingle. At his urging, she rinsed, letting the water flow over her shoulders. He applied the conditioner, and while that worked, he lathered her body with shower gel using her favorite citrus basil blend. When done, his arms briefly encircled her waist.

Then, she turned the tables on him, lathering his chest and arms, working her way down his torso. She moved behind him to wash his shoulders, back, and legs. As soon as she began touching him, he closed his eyes, and sighed. When she finished, he looked over his shoulder at her with such an overwhelming depth of emotion that she could only stare back.

Steve urged her under the water to rinse the conditioner from her hair and soapy residue from her skin. Then, he held the curtain out of the way, taking her hand as she stepped over the side onto the bathmat.

His body was silhouetted through the white shower curtain as he washed and rinsed his hair while she dried, and wrapped her hair in a towel and another around body. He turned off the water and pushed the curtain aside, taking the towel she held out. With a smile, she brazenly watched him rub the terrycloth over his wet body then wrap it around his waist.

They stepped out into the hall, coming face to face with Barton, who looked like a deer in headlights at seeing them coming out of the bathroom together. "I left my…" was all Barton was able to get out at first. He gulped, eyes wide. "It's not import… Why don't l just…"

Maria snickered and went into her room, pulling Steve behind her. He gathered his clothes, and snagged her around the waist for one last passionate kiss. Then, his bare feet thundered down the hall and the stairs, followed by the slamming of the den door.

Barton's footsteps beat a hasty retreat up to the attic, where he'd probably stay until he could look them in the eyes again.

 **Vermont**

Every day since they'd come to the cabin, James had watched Natasha cook, even helped, usually at dinner time, and sometimes in the morning when she made omelets. To him, the omelets tasted like scrambled eggs with partially cooked vegetables and cheese. He didn't want to insult her, so he ate whatever she put in front of him.

He glanced at the clock. It was past twelve and she still hadn't come out of her room. The fourth day in a row she'd done so. And each day he waited for her to come out to make their meals. Down inside, he felt that was wrong somehow. If today was the same as the others, Natasha should be coming out in the next fifteen minutes, and he wanted her to know how much he appreciated all she'd done for him.

In the kitchen, James took the towel she wore around her waist while cooking, hesitating just a moment before tucking it into the waist of his pants like an apron. He opened the refrigerator to examine the contents, wondering what Natasha would want to eat. Something simple would probably be best.

Taking a pot from under the counter, James set it on the stove. He poured in the soup leftover from the day before, and turned on the flame. There wasn't enough to satisfy both their hungers, so he took out the sliced meat and cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and bread. Then he remembered she'd liked to have coffee immediately upon waking. The coffeemaker was ready to use, so he turned it on. By the time he'd built the sandwiches, the soup was hot and the coffee was made. However, Natasha had yet to show herself.

James turned down the heat and stirred the soup again, then brought out bowls and spoons, and cups for the coffee. He filled the bowls and set them on the table with the sandwiches, and poured the coffee. The floor creaked, and when he turned around, Natasha was just closing the bathroom door. She came out a few minutes later, hair neatly arranged, and fully dressed. Though she looked as beautiful as always, there was a lingering air of tiredness around her eyes. Others might not notice, but he did. Seeing him watching her, she put on a smile that rang false.

"You're really making progress, Barnes, making lunch _and_ coffee." She sipped from the cup and set it on the table. "Thank you. I didn't sleep well last night. Or the night before."

"Or the two nights before that? I can hear." James picked up the spoon and stirred his soup. "What's the Red Room?"

A shadow crossed over her features. Anger? Shame? Guilt? Some combination of all three? Whatever it was, offering to have her tell him about it had not been a good idea. Perhaps when he was ready to talk about his past, once he remembered it, she would as well.

" _Mne zhal'. YA ne prosil._ "

Natasha waved away his apology. "Don't be. It's _my_ problem. Not yours."

James wanted to tell her that her problems were his as long as they were together, and that he was here whenever she wanted or needed someone to talk to. But then, she would ask him to do the same, and he wasn't ready to speak aloud his fears and the horrors of his life as the Asset. Not yet, though maybe one day soon. Until then, he would just be here with her, and not press her to talk about anything she didn't want to. The same as she did for him.

Natasha finished her coffee and the soup, ate half of the sandwich, then pushed back from the table. "Think I'll sit outside for a while." She refilled her cup and went outside.

She didn't invite him to join her, and when the door closed, James stared at it for a few seconds before clearing the table. He washed the dishes, and cleaned the stove, counter and table.

Going to the front window, he peeked through the curtain, but Natasha wasn't on the porch. Just her cup sitting on the railing. He had a strong urge to go after her, to make sure she was safe, and let that impulse guide his actions. He made a full circuit of the outside of the building, then went into the shed behind it, but didn't find her.

Returning to the porch, James scanned the horizon left to right and back again. His instincts told him to find Natasha and bring her back, but logic reared its head, telling him to give her time to come back on her own.

James sat down on the top step, hands clasped between his knees. He would wait exactly two hours, then go after her.

 **Brooklyn**

Maria pulled on her workout pants, intending to go for a run later, her eyes falling on the rumpled bedclothes that bore the imprint of two bodies instead of one. Smirking to herself, she recalled the moment she opened the door and Steve was standing with his hand upraised to knock. He looked at her and they knew the time was right.

Now, in the dull light of a cloudy day, Maria knew what she'd only suspected: she loved Steve. Not having had experience with the emotion, she had denied her feelings for weeks, passing them off as a strong desire, a craving for something beyond the stress relief of casual sex. But that wasn't it because she loved everything about him, the full package, not just his body.

Their intimate moments had gone like clockwork, as if Steve knew what he was doing, had done it all before. During their first encounters, he'd been tentative, unsure of himself, unwilling to take liberties beyond kissing. Their time in the movie theater, he'd been surprised at the things she'd done for him. And when it came time to reciprocate, he'd acquitted himself marvelously, with no direction from her beyond providing encouragement. But last night-she rolled her eyes-it had been a whole new ballgame. He'd clearly done research, and it made her feel special that he would go to so much trouble for her.

Pulling a t-shirt on over her sports bra, Maria's thoughts were redirected when the scent of food cooking made her stomach growl again. She quickly put on her socks and running shoes, tied her hair into a ponytail, and ran down the stairs, arriving just as Steve was dropping a burger on a bun.

Maria took a few moments to watch his economical movements, sure and unhurried. He picked up the plates and turned, smiling at seeing her leaning in the doorway, adding a shrug. "Hope you don't mind leftovers. I figured you were too hungry to wait for something more elaborate."

She passed him to pick up the glasses of iced tea already poured, and followed him to the window seat. He waited for her to sit then took the other end facing her. "This is fine. No sugar in the tea?"

Steve scooped up a spoonful of beans. "No sugar."

They spent the rest of the meal alternating looking at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, and staring out the window, and not once did his smile waver. Maria knew that Steve was wondering what to say, and to tell the truth, she had the same problem. But for her, it was different. She had always avoided the morning after awkwardness by not staying the night.

In a few weeks, all this superness, the strength, hearing, and so forth would all be gone and she'd be back to herself. Not that she minded, though she wondered what would happen when she and Steve made love once she was back to normal. She knew he wouldn't purposely hurt her. She also didn't want him holding back so much that he didn't get everything he deserved out of this relationship.

The last of the tea slid down Maria's throat. She wiped her mouth, dropped the napkin on the empty plate, and turned to look out the window, letting her mind replay the night.

 **Vermont**

The end of James' self-imposed timeline, Natasha appeared at the sedge of the clearing carrying a handful of colorful blossoms. She bent her head to inhale their fragrance then looked up at the sky. His eyes followed hers as the drone of an engine passed nearby. A small plane moved against the backdrop of a sky mostly covered by clouds that didn't look friendly.

Far away, lightning flashed on the side of the mountains, and rain began to fall, moving in their direction. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves on the trees and bending the blades of grass.

James descended the steps as Natasha reached him, tilting her head back to keep eye contact. This time, when the lightning flashed, thunder could be heard rolling over the land.

They went inside, Natasha acting as if nothing odd had occurred as they went into the kitchen to start dinner.

Outside, rain pattered on the roof.

 **TBC**

 **A/N:** _Mne zhal'. YA ne prosil_. = I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.


	7. Chapter 30

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

 **WARNING:** This chapter includes content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **30**

Sitting across from Maria, Steve watched one emotion after the other play out in her eyes. She no doubt thought she was unreadable, emotionless. But if he learned nothing else during the night, she did have emotions. She just chose not to wear them on her sleeve.

While searching for information on being intimate with a woman, Steve had come across a sex etiquette list, dismissing most of it as unnecessary. Hours later, the rule about not assuming you would be asked to stay the night came due. When he thought the time was right, Steve lifted the covers, but only got one foot out before Maria snuggled against his side, and whispered, "Don't go."

It wasn't so much the words as the tone that told him she'd never asked a man to stay the night before. He'd pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "Not going anywhere."

A long wavering sigh had softly brushed the skin of his chest. "Good. Get some sleep, Rogers."

Her voice was husky and warm, sleepy.

That had been hours ago, and he could still feel where her cheek had pressed against his chest with her smile. Except for their fingers bumping when he handed her a plate, they hadn't touched since the shower, and it made him wonder if she had regrets, though he doubted it. Maria wasn't the type of woman to second guess decisions, personally or professionally.

Steve looked up and found her watching him. She put her feet on the floor and slid across the window seat to his side. "Ready to have that talk now?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"It's a gift." She squeezed his hand. "Want me to go first?"

"Please."

Seeming to gather her thoughts, she turned to him with a smile. "I had a good time last night. _And_ this morning."

Something about her tone was off, as if she had more to say and he might not like it. "But?"

She leaned closer, tilting her head to look into his eyes, the tips of her fingers brushing through the hairs at his temple. "No buts. In fact, I had a _great_ time."

Relieved, Steve covered her hand with his. "What about, uh…"

"Especially that." With a sly smirk, she rubbed the hand in his hair down the back of his neck. "You Googled it, didn't you?"

Steve couldn't help it. The look on her face and their conversation were so absurd, he laughed out loud, and nodded. "Yes. And the one from the shower."

That smirk got bigger, became a grin. "Mmm. That was fun too."

For that, she deserved another kiss, and he gave her one. He meant it to be sweet, just a few seconds, but those seconds turned into more as she deepened the kiss. Then she made that sound in the back of her throat, the wanting, needy sound. Maria framed his face with her palms, exerting pressure until he was on his back with her on top, lying between his thighs. One of her hands found the waistband of his pants and started pulling at his shirt. They parted at the sound of Barton jogging the length of the hall and taking the stairs two at a time.

He caught sight of them before they could sort themselves out, huffing long and hard. "Will you two get a _room_?" He crossed to the garage door, waving a hand to include them and what they'd been doing. "There is no freakin' _way_ I can unsee _any_ of this."

The sound of a car starting up followed Barton's departure, and soon they were alone again.

~~O~~

Now that it was his turn to speak, Steve didn't know what to say. The Internet searches he'd done had paid off better than he hoped, and he felt ecstatic that he'd given Maria pleasure, not once, but several times. Did _he_ enjoy the night he spent in her bed? Very much so. Did he want to do it again? Definitely! And again, and again…

His uncertainty came from deep inside where a small part of him felt he was being unfaithful to Peggy. They hadn't had a commitment to each other, had only kissed, and though he had loved her and was certain she felt the same, their time apart had made it impossible for them to be together. The Peggy he knew had been lost to him decades ago when he went into the ice. She'd moved on with her life, married, had a family, and it was time for him to do the same. What he didn't know was how to express it to Maria in a way that didn't sound idiotic, or like he was a love-sick teenager.

He looked up when Maria nudged his shoulder with hers, a question in her eyes. Holding her hand between both of his, he kissed her fingers. "Ditto. To all of it."

"That's it? Just ditto? I thought Captain America would have more to say than just _ditto_."

Releasing her hand, Steve put his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face him so he could kiss her, backing off when she tried to take it further. "Saving the big speech for later."

She touched his cheek in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness that was reflected in her eyes. "Gonna hold you to it, Rogers."

~~O~~

Steve's phone beeped and he released her to answer it. "It's Natasha." That look of confusion came over his features again. "She wants to know Bucky's favorite song and his favorite color."

"And?"

From his expression, this was information Steve felt was confidential, not to be shared. Maria also knew he'd tell her eventually, and he did. "When we were kids, he liked _Sweet Georgia Brown_ because there was a girl he had a crush on named Georgia, and _Ain't Misbehavin'_. After he joined the Army, it was those two, plus _Blue Moon_ and _Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy_. And green for the color."

"Jazz fan, huh? Guess he and I have something in common besides _you_." Maria poked him in the chest.

"Then you'll have something besides _me_ to talk about when I'm not around." Steve sent the information off and hugged Maria close again.

 **Vermont**

Natasha's phone beeped, and she stared at Steve's response to her text. She'd heard the songs before. Just not recently. Outside, the steady crack-thunk of wood being chopped gave her Barnes' location. Earlier, she'd sent him to find wood and he'd come back dragging an entire felled tree, so she put him to work chopping it. They didn't need the wood except on the occasional chilly mountain night, but it kept him busy.

Accessing the music database, she located the songs, dragged them to a playlist and sat back to listen, tapping her foot in time to the music. Why she'd asked Steve for Barnes' favorite songs, she couldn't say. Just that instinct told her the knowledge might come in handy one day. Maybe it was a means to helping him remember his past.

The sound of booted footsteps crossing the porch alerted her to Barnes returning, and she rushed to shut off the music before he heard.

Barnes came into the room carrying an armload of wood. Without acknowledging her presence, he stacked the logs in the box next to the fireplace. Then, to her surprise, he laid a fire in the hearth, replaced the screen and stood, brushing bark and dirt from his hands. He looked up and saw her watching him. "Expecting cold weather, Barnes?"

"You get chilled at night. A fire will help."

Hiding her surprise that he'd noticed, Natasha commented with a smile, "And you know this how?"

He glanced at her and away. "When you have bad dreams, I check on you. You're always huddled under the blanket, shivering."

"That's thoughtful, _and_ a little creepy. We'll light a fire tonight." He stood there watching her as if waiting to be told what to do. A pair of boots sat beside her and she put them on. "I need some exercise. Let's go for a walk."

He nodded and went out onto the porch to wait. When she joined him, he watched her for a moment then descended the steps and she followed, letting him lead the way.

 **Brooklyn**

To give her meal time to settle, Maria went upstairs and stripped all the beds, stuffed everything in the huge basket she found in the laundry room, and carried it down to the first floor. Steve was in the kitchen washing dishes, seeming to be fully engrossed in the project. Certain he wouldn't mind, she went into the den to gather up his bed clothes and add them to the load.

The washer was one of those heavy duty ones designed to handle the needs of a large family. She shoved all the linens into the washer, added detergent and fabric softener, and turned it on.

While that was going and Steve was sweeping, Maria glanced from him to the den door. A short internal debate ensued, then she went back into the den to gather up his belongings. She carried them up to her room, placing the personal items in the bathroom and his clothes in her closet. The dirty clothes she put with hers and took them downstairs to be washed.

When Maria reached the bottom step, she found that Steve had mopped the foyer and the floor around the stairs. She was stuck until it dried. Again, she watched Steve work, amazed at the play of muscles under his shirt where it pulled taut over his chest and arms. Not to mention that a man who did housework without being asked was sexy as hell. But then Steve had been raised in a different era, and that made her wonder, despite their obvious compatibility in all other areas, if they could make a go of a long-term relationship.

The longest relationship she'd been in, if you didn't count the estranged one with her father, was with Fury. And it wasn't like they were friends, exactly. They seldom associated outside of work. Just the odd gathering with the movers and shakers of the world. During these functions, she smiled and made nice with people she wouldn't speak to if it wasn't part of her job as Fury's second-in-command. And now that SHIELD had been sent underground, she was free of the responsibility-temporarily at least.

Doubts about her ability to sustain a personal relationship hovered over her like a cloud. If she expressed these doubts to Steve, how would he react? He'd probably say something about taking it one day at a time. And he'd be right. The future was uncertain for all of them. All they could do was assume the world would continue to spin on, as Fury would say, and make plans accordingly.

"Maria?" Steve was standing in the den doorway, a look of confusion in his blue eyes. While she'd been deliberating, the floor had dried.

"Yeah?" He pointed over his shoulder into the den, and she realized she hadn't asked his consent to move his stuff. Getting to her feet, she picked up the basket of clothes. He took it and followed her into the laundry room. "It's just the two of us, so I put your things in my room." Sensing his surprise, she smiled at his dazed, open-mouthed expression. "If that's okay with you."

Steve dropped the basket, and before Maria could stop him, he swept her into his arms, and kissed her. "It's more than okay."

"Good. Now put me down so I can finish the laundry."

"I'll help." He transferred the linens from the washer to the dryer, and got it started while she filled the washer again. "Let's go for a run. You can try out your new super powers. See if they'll hold up to," he flexed his biceps and wiggled his eyebrows, "Captain America."

"You're on."

Steve opened the front door and they stepped out onto the porch. The sky had gone dark grey with storm clouds and the wind had picked up, blowing trash all over and bending branches nearly to the breaking point. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. "Before the serum, I had to stay indoors as much as possible because of my asthma. Afterwards, I still avoided going out in the rain unless I had to, at least for a while."

"Which means?"

"Let's watch a movie instead."

Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder boomed, and seconds later, the rain started coming down hard. "A movie would be good," Maria deadpanned.

Still, Steve stood there looking out at the storm. Maria watched his thoughts flicker over his features. Then, he smiled. "I love you."

The words, while not a surprise, still caught Maria off guard. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He barely seemed to be breathing, waiting for her response. Pursing her lips to keep a grin from getting out of control, she said, "I know."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, as if her response had been exactly what he hoped for. Turning together, he took her by the hand and they went back inside.

In the foyer, Maria took his phone from his back pocket and laid it on the table by the stairs. Stepping in close, she encircled his neck with her arms. "Forget the movie. I have a better way to pass the time."

Steve leaned down until their lips were almost touching. "I like the way you think."

He lifted her in his arms, carried her upstairs to her room, and kicked the door shut.

 **Vermont**

James heard the rustle of an animal moving through the underbrush, and he put up a hand as a signal for silence. Natasha came to his side, a question in her eyes. He crouched and she came down next to him as he pointed. Ahead of them on the trail was a small reddish colored animal with pointed ears, a long nose and a fluffy tail. Natasha touched his arm, mouthing the word "fox". He nodded and they watched as the animal sniffed the ground, moving in what seemed like a random path through the trees and bushes. Suddenly, it stopped and stared at them. The ears twitched, and it scampered away.

He looked over at Natasha. She noticed his scrutiny, and smiled. Without thinking, he returned it. Then, as if he'd done something wrong, she stood and moved back a step, brushing the dirt from her hands and scanning the area. Wondering what had just happened, James started walking again, the songs of a variety of colorful birds providing a musical accompaniment to their journey.

Soon, they came to a small stream, the clear water flowing over rocks and pebbles, leaves and twigs carried along by the flow, occasionally catching on the weeds growing on the banks between patches of earth where animals stood to drink. James liked sitting on the big rock and watching the water. The rushing sound and the light glittering off the surface calmed his mind when he felt as if he were about to lose control. From what he'd read, it was considered a form of meditation. He often came here on his solitary walks when he was feeling overwhelmed.

Movement beside him drew his attention back to Natasha. She knelt down and leaned forward to drink from the stream, wiping drops from her chin, laughing sheepishly when their eyes met. "We didn't bring water."

Now that she mentioned it, James realized he was thirsty too. He copied her actions, using the pack of his hand to wipe away the drips. Getting to his feet, he looked around, and chose a direction. Natasha moved in front of him, and truthfully, he preferred her to stay where he could see her in case she needed protection from wild animals. People didn't concern him as much. They hadn't seen another human since the day they arrived, but that didn't mean they weren't around.

Without warning, a memory resurfaced, and just that quickly, he was back in Germany during the war, sitting in a smoky bar with the Howling Commandoes, drinking, eating and flirting with the _Fräuleins_. All but Steve, who smiled tightly and nodded when asked if he wanted another beer. The waitress came back with a tray of _humpen_ , setting one in front of each man with a smile.

He brought the mug to his mouth, stopping without taking a drink when one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen came from the kitchen area, a towel over her shoulder and carrying five huge mugs in each hand. Her raven black hair was twisted into a long braid that hung to the middle of her back. She went behind the bar to set them on the shelf with the other clean mugs. As she turned around, their eyes met. She smiled shyly and pushed through the saloon doors. He started to follow, wanting to at least get her name, stopping when her face appeared over the doors. She looked up, indicating the top floor, and holding up two fingers. If he understood correctly, she lived above the bar and hotel in room two. Her other hand came up, this time with three fingers, and the other hand making a zero. Thirty minutes. He only had _thirty_ _minutes_ to get himself cleaned up.

In his memory, James introduced himself to the girl. " _Ich heisse_ _Bucky Barnes_. _Wie ist dein name_?"

The girl smiled. " _Ich heisse Isolde Gruber. Ich spreche Englisch_."

"Thank God, 'cause my German pretty much sucks."

Her hair was loose, hanging over one shoulder, the fingers of one hand playing with the strands. "I heard you with your friends. You speak it well enough, though not as well as the dark skinned man." She looked him up and down, and opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in, Bucky?"

Happy that she found him presentable, Bucky smiled. "Yes, I would, Isolde."

Bucky joined Isolde in her room, the door closed, and suddenly, they were kissing and she was unbuttoning his shirt.

James returned to the present with a snap when Natasha tackled him to the ground. A horrible stench assaulted his nose, accompanied by a small animal scurrying away, and the sound of Natasha swearing.

~~O~~

When the skunk appeared on the trail, Natasha had tried to signal to Barnes to back up slowly. However, he was staring off into space and didn't react when she whispered his name. As the skunk came closer, she walked backward, hoping the animal's interest would be diverted by something more interesting. No such luck. It turned its back on her, and in a last ditch effort to avoid the spray, Natasha turned and tackled Barnes to the ground, landing on top of him. " _Kakogo chyorta!_ "

"What was it?"

"A skunk. And we just got sprayed. _Chyort voz'mi!_ " She rolled off of Barnes and got to her feet. Sniffing herself, she made a sound of disgust as he followed her in the direction of the cabin. "We can't go inside until we get rid of the smell. The remedy's in the supply closet."

"What do we do?"

Natasha set a fast pace through the forest, huffing with annoyance. "One of us will have to get undressed to prevent the smell from getting inside the cabin, and bring out what we need. We can rinse at the stream. It's biodegradable."

"Clothes?"

"We'll have to burn them. The boots too."

They left the woods and stepped into the clearing that circled the cabin. Natasha and Barnes shared a glance. "So the one who goes in for the supplies will be..."

"In their skivvies. Yes." Natasha held out a hand, the other fisted in the palm. "Rock, paper, scissors."

Barnes pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping it on the ground at his feet then reached for his belt. "I'll go. Tell me what you need."

~~O~~

Standing in his bedroom wearing only his boxers, James briefly thought of bringing clothes for Natasha and him to wear back to the cabin. But one sniff of himself told him not to. He'd come in through his room just in case the smell lingered, then it wouldn't bother Natasha while she slept.

He went right to the supply closet. Taking care not to touch anything he didn't have to, he grabbed two bottles of biodegradable skunk deodorizer. By the time he exited the cabin and made his way down to the stream, Natasha had already gotten a fire going. From the odd smell as he approached, she'd already started burning their clothes. He came around a bend in the path that opened into a clearing next to the stream.

Unexpectedly, he found her sitting on a log wearing just her unmentionables. Stumbling to a stop, James tried to look anywhere but at her nearly naked body. He heard her poke the fire with a stick, the flames crackling as it flared higher. The burnt skunk smell increased, telling him she'd added another article of clothing to the fire.

"You can turn around, Barnes. These days, most women wear less than this to the beach."

Still holding the bottles in front of him, James face her again. She threw something at him, and he caught it. Setting the bottles on the ground at his feet, he held the garment up. "What is it?"

"Something for you to cover up with so you don't have to go commando until we're ready to go home."

Facing away from her, he used the sleeves to tie the denim jacket around his hips, then removed his boxers and tossed them in the fire. Natasha's sharp intake of breath told him she'd seen the scars on his back from his shoulders down to his knees. He didn't know how he'd gotten them, assuming the original injuries had happened when he fell from the train. That incident wasn't a fully formed memory. More like he was an observer, as if watching a film. The "characters" were familiar, without the emotional investment reality provided. He expected her to say something, but she didn't.

When James looked at her again, she was staring into the fire watching the cloth burn. The breeze shifted, and she moved to the other side so the smoke wouldn't blow in her face, bringing her closer to him. Close enough that he could smell _her_ under the skunk.

With the clothes gone, the skunk scent wasn't as strong, but it was in their hair and on their skin, so they still had to scrub with the deodorizer.

Abruptly, Natasha grabbed the one of the bottles, twisted the top off, and poured it into her hand. "Spread it all over your body. Get all the nooks and crannies, including your left arm. Hair too. Don't get it in your eyes, ears or mouth. It has to stay on about five minutes then rinse."

Following her lead, James rubbed it over himself until all that remained was his hair, back and private area. He saturated his hair, and was working out how to reach all of his back when he felt Natasha's hands on him, massaging the sticky substance over his skin, her fingers tracing the shapes of the scars. She stopped at the edge of the jacket, and he heard rustling behind him, then her panties and bra flew into the fire. "You'll have to do the rest yourself, after you do my back."

Taking a deep breath, James poured the solution into his hand and applied it to her back, feeling every bump and ridge of her spine, and the sharp edges of her shoulder blades. As he applied it to her shoulders, her hair tickled the back of his flesh and blood hand. Thankfully, his body didn't betray him by reacting to the sensation or the sight of her bare bottom.

When he finished, Natasha pointed her chin at a thick bush. One side of her mouth turned up in a teasing smile. "Go behind there to finish. I won't peek."

Unable to think of a bantering comment, James stepped behind the bush, untied the jacket and sent it flying through the air into the fire. And when Natasha glanced over her shoulder at him, he didn't smile, just raised one eyebrow. She chuckled as she returned to her task, James averting his eyes once more when she used the last of the bottle on a specific area. Apparently modesty wasn't a part of her character. In the back of his mind, he sensed the same trait in himself, tempered with his introduction to this new world to which he was slowly becoming accustomed.

~~O~~

Watching Barnes dart behind the bush, Natasha mildly berated herself for teasing him yet again. On the other hand, she was gratified that her plan was working when he merely raised an eyebrow at her. He had no idea that it made him appear cocky and playful, and all the more captivating, making her want things she couldn't have. At least not with him. That wasn't why they were here. Their relationship was as teacher and student, mentor and mentee. Not femme fatale and mark. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Lovers.

When five minutes had passed according to her internal clock, Natasha waited a little longer, just in case, before going down to the stream to rinse. Aside from the lingering skunk smell from the burned clothing and the boots they'd yet to dispose of, her skin and hair were clean once again.

Natasha walked along the edge of the stream until she came to a dip in the bed. She climbed in, the water coming up to her waist, the coolness causing her to inhale sharply. Ducking under the water, she rubbed at her skin and hair until she no longer felt the stickiness of the deodorizer. Raising her head above water, she pushed the hair from her face, and gave her skin one last check.

The snap-snap-snap of twigs interrupted the relative silence, and assuming it was Barnes, she turned to greet him. Instead, she found herself face to face with a moose. They watched each other for a few moments, Natasha hardly daring to breathe. The young female came to the edge of the water, dipping her head to drink, her ears rotating front to back, taking in all the sounds of the forest.

Suddenly, she looked to the left then turned and trotted away. Natasha climbed out of the water, pushing the hair out of her eyes, and rubbing the rivulets from her face. A slight breeze chilled her skin, creating goose flesh. She rubbed her arms to warm them, ignoring the involuntary reaction from a prominent part of her anatomy.

Rustling grass reached her ears just before Barnes came from behind the trunk of a large tree. From her vantage point, his lower half was hidden, and she knew he couldn't see her below the collarbones. She grinned at him. "We look like Adam and Eve, but without the apple tree, or the snake, or that whole populating the world thing. Not to mention Vermont winters are damn cold. No pun intended."

"Pun?"

"Never mind. I'll go back to the clearing while you clean up."

A few minutes later, Barnes joined her again, still keeping behind a bush and not looking at her, though he'd have to come out sooner or later. Another stray breeze caused her to shiver, and Barnes saw though she tried to hide it. "You should get inside. I'll light the fire."

She let a little of her good humor show in an ironic smile. "How's that work again? You don't want to see _me_ naked and don't want _me_ to see _you_ naked. Kind of limits our options." He didn't have an answer, and Natasha huffed in minor annoyance. "Look, we're adults, Barnes. I've seen naked male bodies, and you've seen naked female bodies. Let's just get home so I can enjoy a glass of wine and some music by the fire."

Before he could make a comment or offer an alternative solution, Natasha stepped from behind the row of bushes, and headed down the path toward the cabin. On the way, she picked up the deodorizers bottles. The fire she'd used to burn their clothes was almost out. Mixed in with the ashes, she saw the soles of two pairs of boots. Barnes had dropped them in while she was at the stream.

She heard splashing as he rinsed, and in a few minutes, he joined her, also staring at the fire. Then, he kicked dirt onto to the still hot embers, snuffing them out.

"I'm surprised we haven't run into a skunk before now. They're all over Vermont. Let's not do that again."

They arrived at the cabin just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows, and blurring the sharp lines of nature, the colors seeming to run into each other. Natasha went into her room, hearing the door to Barnes' room click shut a few seconds later.

Natasha came out, dressed once again, hair brushed and socks on her feet. Barnes was lighting the fire. She went to the kitchen to make coffee, and found a fresh pot.

Taking her cup of coffee, Natasha went to the sofa and sat in the corner with her feet tucked under. Now that she was dressed, the chills had stopped. It wasn't often she felt the cold, but for some reason, today she did. Only the cold wasn't just external. It was internal as well.

The sofa shifted as Barnes took a seat at the other end. His practice had been to eat whatever she made, whether he liked it or not, and drink what she drank. Tonight, he had a glass of lemonade with ice. Natasha silently applauded his choice because that meant he was becoming his own person again. Sure, he'd made his own decisions at the beginning of his disaffection from HYDRA. However, it had been too much, too soon. For seventy years, others had made all his choices for him. Clothing, food, training, missions, entombing him in a cryogenic chamber until the next time he was need to give the world a nudge toward destruction. It made her angry that HYDRA would turn a kind, compassionate, and caring man like Bucky Barnes into a brutal, cold-hearted killing machine.

Now, Barnes was choosing, weighing his options. The next step in her plan to rehabilitate him was to have him interact with others besides her. After today, they needed food and clothing. Tomorrow, they would go into town. She might even let him drive.

"Why are you here?"

His words, loud in the silence of the room, save for the crackling of the fire, startled Natasha. She sipped her coffee and stared into the flames. "We've had this conversation before. No sense beating it to death."

Barnes made no response, and when she turned to look at him, he was watching her without blinking. It was a tactic she'd used to unnerve a mark, rattle his or her nerves to make them speak without thinking. Using strategies she'd been taught as a child against her wouldn't get him very far. She turned the question back on him. "Why do _you_ think I'm here?"

"Uncertain." His metal arm glittered in the firelight, the flames dancing over the metal like fingers over piano keys playing a tune no one could hear. "I won't let them lock me away again."

His voice was normally rough and husky, with a flatness that suggested he felt detached from his emotions, and lacked empathy for other humans. Now, the texture had changed. As hard as he fought when he considered her his mission, that same indomitable spirit pushed back at the possibility that he might end up in the same situation, just with different jailers.

"Not gonna happen."

"How do you know?"

Carefully thinking through her answer, Natasha turned in her seat, knees bent, injecting as much sincerity into her tone as possible. "Because I won't allow it. And if they try, we'll disappear. Go where no one will ever find us." She moved to his side, purposely invading his personal space, taking his hand and holding tight when he tried to pull away. "You can trust me, Bucky. I, more than anyone, know what it's like to break the chain of trust. But for the one who's dealt the blow of duplicity, it's not an easy thing to get over. You begin to think that everyone, even lifelong friends, are out to get you." Slowly, so he wouldn't think it was an attack, Natasha touched his cheek. "I _won't_ let you down. That's a promise."

His eyes roamed over her features and back to her eyes, still dubious as to her motives. The light hit him just right so that she could see his acceptance, at least for now. "We?"

"Absolutely. Friends don't let friends go off the grid alone." Standing, Natasha gave him an encouraging smile. "Let's get something to eat."

Without waiting for her instructions, Barnes opened the refrigerator and took out the ingredients for a salad while she made sandwiches.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then, with her back to Barnes, Natasha took a deep breath to fortify herself to speak on a subject she'd only told to a few others. "The Red Room is where I was trained, and where I grew up. They 'recruited' twenty-eight orphaned girls near the age of seven, and trained them as deep-cover agents, and assassins.

"At one point many of us were implanted with false memories of lives we never lived… being a prima ballerina, marriages to husbands who didn't exist. Because of my skill set, I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way. He was sent to kill me, but I wouldn't be here if not for Clint."

The steady thunk-thunk of chopping stopped briefly, then continued as Barnes finally got the punchline of her earlier statement. The quiet of the room seemed almost deafening as she waited for Barnes to make a comment.

"I'm sorry."

The heartfelt sympathy in his voice warmed Natasha. She turned to give him a smile of thanks. In response, he crossed the room, and after a moment's consideration, drew her into his arms, holding her more tenderly than she thought him capable of, as if she were delicate porcelain and would break. His metal arm encircled her shoulders while his right hand smoothed over her hair, urging her head onto his shoulder.

Natasha's palms rested on Barnes' chest, and she just let him hold her.

 **TBC**

German:

 _Ich heisse_ _Bucky Barnes_. _Wie ist dein name_? = My name is Bucky Barnes. What is your name?

 _Ich heisse Isolde Gruber. Ich spreche Englisch_. = My name is Isolde Gruber. I speak English.

 _Fräuleins_ = Obsolete honorific for an unmarried young woman

 _Humpen_ = Beer stein

Russian:

 _Kakogo chyorta!_ = What the hell!

 _Chyort voz'mi!_ = Dammit! Oh s***!


	8. Chapter 31

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter** **31**

Standing in the kitchen, holding Natasha in his arms, James wondered why he felt the need to comfort her this way. In the weeks since he'd broken free of HYDRA's hold on him, he had not held a woman for anything other than necessity, to save a life. With Tracie, he had felt… nothing. Warmth where their bodies touched, but little else. He'd reacted to the nearness of a female, but that was all. He knew it to be involuntary, not something he had control over.

With Natasha it was different. There were times when a glance or smile from across the room would stir something within him that was not at all what he expected, especially with the two of them alone so far from other people. But the sight of her, no matter how she was dressed, pulled him in her direction. Her natural scent had that effect as well. This close to her, James inhaled her fragrance. Natasha's natural aroma was clean and soft, like a blanket fresh from the dryer on a cold night.

She exerted pressure against his chest, and James took that as a signal that she wanted to be released. Dropping his arms, he took a step back. Their eyes found each other, hers unreadable, and a darker shade of green than he was used to seeing. Turning back to what she'd been doing, she picked up the knife to finish slicing the tomato, adding it to the sandwiches. Spicy mustard came next, then the top slice of bread. She cut the sandwiches, and James returned to the salads he'd been making.

Behind him, plates thumped on the table, followed by Natasha filling her cup and another with coffee. She placed one at each setting, then the chair scraped over the wood floor as she sat down. James joined her, placing the salad bowls in easy reach.

They ate in silence for so long that James wondered if he'd done something wrong. Occasionally, Natasha would cast a glance in his direction, holding the look for a moment. Then, she'd go back to eating. He took his cue from her, and stayed quiet.

When she finished eating, Natasha carried her dishes to the sink, and came back for his, placing them all in the sink she'd filled with hot, soapy water. From the cupboard, she took down two plates, and went back to the refrigerator, coming back with a square, flat box. Because she purposely stood in the way, James couldn't see what she was doing.

Over her shoulder, she said, "No peeking."

To keep from… peeking, James went to the other room to check the fire. He used the poker to stir the embers and it flared brighter, giving off more warmth. The ding of the microwave drew his attention, and soon, Natasha joined him carrying a tray. She set it on the low table in front of the sofa, and waited for him to sit before handing him a small plate and a cup. On the plate was a wedge of… he didn't know what it was. It had bread-like covering on the top and bottom with reddish sauce and round objects that looked like fruit between them. A scoop of white ice cream sat on top, partially melted from the heat of the food. The unfamiliar smell made his mouth water.

He looked over at Natasha, and she smiled. "Cherry pie à la mode. Try it."

He cut off a piece of the pie, taking some of the ice cream with it. The combination of flavors, tart and sweet, hot and cold at the same time exploded on his tongue. He took another bite and another. He would've continued eating, but Natasha stopped him by grabbing the wrist holding the fork. "Slow down! You'll make yourself sick."

Nodding, James set the fork on the plate. "I like it."

"I can tell." Natasha moved back the opposite end of the sofa, picked up her plate and took a bite while watching him. She didn't blink, and it made him uneasy. Finally, she looked into the fire again. "Thank you. For what you did before."

James cut another bite of the pie and scooped it onto the fork. "You're welcome."

"Why did you do it?"

His motivation was easy to explain. His physical reaction, less so. "You appeared to need it." She pressed her lips together, and James felt like he'd made a mistake in his assessment of the situation. "Did I do something wrong?"

Her smile reappeared, though it seemed forced. "No. Not at all."

The tense atmosphere eased, and James went back to his pie and ice cream. When finished, he stacked the cups and plates on the tray, and carried them to the kitchen where he put them in the sink with the other dishes. Natasha didn't join him, so he washed the dishes on his own, stacking them in the rack to dry. Then he wiped down the counter and table.

He returned to other room, and found Natasha asleep, curled tightly in the corner of the sofa, one hand under the pillow and the other pushed up against her chin. Thinking she may be cold, he went into her room for the blanket that hung over the foot of the bed and used it to cover her, tucking it around her neck. She frowned in her sleep, but didn't move or wake.

James stirred the embers once more, added another small log, watched Natasha sleep for a while, then went into his room, but didn't close the door.

~~O~~

When Barnes left the room, Natasha opened her eyes. She hadn't been asleep, merely pretending to see what he would do. It made her feel cared for that he felt the need to check on her when she was sleeping, though she'd rather he didn't come into her room to do it. She didn't make an issue of it, not wanting to discourage him from this resurging compassion for another. If he had no feelings one way or the other for the rest of the human race, he wouldn't have saved her at the hospital. The HYDRA squad chasing them would only be a memory, and he wouldn't have spoken about the Rabbi or Dugan with a small spark of affection or worried that he caused problems for them.

Tomorrow, they would drive into town for supplies, food and clothes. She debated over her earlier decision to let him drive, and now thought it wouldn't be a good idea. At least not yet. _Baby steps_ , she reminded herself. Take it one step at a time, one day at a time, and eventually, he would be able to live on his own, and not worry that he might kill someone by accident. Maybe he'd even find love.

Natasha heard his muffled footsteps returning to the living room, and closed her eyes, forcing herself not to react when he adjusted the blanket over her and poked the fire again. The sounds of him moving around the room stopped, and soon, she was asleep for real.

~~O~~

Morning came, and James awakened to the smell of coffee and something familiar. French toast? He scrambled out of bed and rushed through a shower. In the mirror, he noticed that his hair had grown some since it had been cut until it was nearly the length it had been the day he dragged Steve out of the river. Keeping in mind what Tracie told him about shaving, he made the decision not to. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Touching his cheek with his fingers, he wondered what Natasha thought of this look or if she favored men without beards. And fast on the heels of that came another thought: _Why do I care which she prefers?_

He dressed and joined Natasha at the table. Most of the time, he let her initiate conversation. However, he had the feeling that he wasn't the kind of man to let others lead the way. Digging into his memories, he pulled out an appropriate greeting. "Good morning."

Natasha set a cup of coffee in front of him with a smile. "Knew the smell of food would get you out of bed." She returned with a plate of French toast. The syrup was already on the table. The smell of the food made his mouth water, and though he wanted to dig right in, his mind told him to wait for Natasha to join him. It was called having manners or common courtesy.

She brought another plate and a second coffee cup, pulled the chair out and sat down. When she started eating, he did as well. Several times he caught her watching him, and wanted to ask why, but didn't.

"What do you remember from being a child, Barnes?" James wasn't certain he understood the question, and just shrugged. "When you ate with your family, did you pray before the meal?"

He chewed and swallowed before responding. "Don't remember."

"Have you researched your family? Found out what happened to them?" Again, he shrugged. He'd saved the information in his computer, and it had all been lost when Natasha destroyed it. He could look it up again, if he wanted to, but wasn't sure he did. As if she could read his mind, one side of her mouth turned up in a smile. "I uploaded the info on your laptop to a Cloud account before I fried it."

"Cloud?" In his mind, he pictured puffy clouds floating through the sky with books and photos stacked on them.

"It's an Internet hosting service designed to host user files. Users upload files that can then be accessed over the Internet from different mobile devices." His blank look made her laugh. "Sorry. You know how to use a computer so I thought you had a handle on all the tech. Think of it as a trunk or a box where were you keep all your important documents, photos, books, whatever, that you can take with you wherever you go. All you need is a way to open it anywhere, not just at home. In this case, the box is a smart phone, laptop, tablet, or other Internet-capable device."

He nodded as if he understood, and she accepted with a smile. "You up for a little adventure? It won't involve skunks."

The humor of Natasha's question and statement didn't escape James, and he found himself smiling back.

Natasha finished her coffee, and before she could stand, James did so, taking their plates and cups to the sink. He filled it with hot soapy water, and washed the dishes. After drying his hands, he returned to the bedroom for his jacket and gloves. Natasha was already wearing a jacket, one with a hood that she pulled up over her head. "It's raining again, but we need food and clothes so we're going shopping."

James followed her to the car, going around to the passenger side and getting in. Natasha put on her seatbelt, and he belatedly did the same.

The road out was muddy, but not so much that they got stuck. In a while, it joined another road that was made of gravel. That one led them to another that was paved. By then, the rain had stopped, and the sun had started to shine.

They drove for a long time until they came to the same store they'd stopped at on the way to the cabin. Getting out, James counted the vehicles in the parking lot, mentally adding up the probable number of people inside the building, and didn't like the answer. If something went wrong, if he felt threatened, would he be able to control his instincts without harming anyone?

"Yo, Barnes. Daylight's burning. Let's go." Natasha shoved a cart in his direction. "You push. If you see something you want, sing out."

From the expression on her face, James was certain she didn't mean he should literally sing. Taking his gloves out, he started to cover his metal hand when Natasha stopped him. "Don't. No one will notice, and if they do, they'll think you were injured in the war."

"I was."

Again that half smile. "Just don't tell them it was World War II."

Just outside the entrance, James stopped when a thought occurred to him. "Have been others?"

"World wars? No." Relieved, James followed Natasha into the store, hearing her say under her breath, "There was an alien invasion a couple years back." She looked at him through those long, dark lashes, and grinned. "We kicked their _asses_!"

 **Brooklyn**

When Maria opened her eyes, the room was dark and she was alone. The rain was still falling, though not as hard. At the edge of her hearing she could hear the play-by-play of a baseball game on the television downstairs.

Flicking on the light, she caught sight of the open closet where Steve's clothes hung next to hers, looking as if they belonged there, which was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

A tiny sliver of panic begged to be noticed, and when Maria acknowledged its existence, it began to grow, whispering in her ear that she and Steve were moving too fast. That they needed more time before deciding if they should live together. She blamed this afternoon's lapse in judgment on the after effects of their night of passion. The sex had been fantastic, and she'd let it overshadow her common sense, something she'd never done before.

The rational part of her brain justified their sleeping arrangements as a practical solution in their current situation. But would he take it as a commitment? A sign that she wanted to get married? Have kids? Get a mortgage? A dog?

Tossing the covers aside, Maria got dressed, all the while wondering how she could get out of the house without speaking to Steve. She needed to be alone, to think, and she couldn't do that knowing he was downstairs waiting for her.

She'd just finished tying her shoelaces when her cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. Picking it up, she scowled at the display: Robert Hill. With an angry poke, she sent the call to voice mail. She was still debating how to get away from the house without being noticed when the phone vibrated again. This time indicating she'd received a text from the same number. Just two words: Call me.

Maria hadn't spoken to her father in years, and suddenly received a phone call _and_ a text on the same day? She didn't know what was going on, and didn't _want_ to know. As a child, the man had swung back and forth between ignoring and berating her, often slipping in a biting comment reinforcing his resentment that she'd lived while her mother had died when she was born.

Now she _really_ had to get away. To run off the anger and bitterness she'd worked so hard to bury over the years. Taking the stairs slowly, stepping over that one that creaked, she made it to the bottom without drawing Steve's attention. Crossing to the front door, she carefully let herself out. The rain has seldom been a deterrent to her runs, so she put up the hood of her jacket and stepped off the porch. The gate squeaked so she jumped over, relieved that she still had the increased strength from the transfusion. If the doctor's timetable was accurate, she wouldn't have it much longer. Time to make the most of it.

Maria jogged over to Linden Avenue, turned left, surpassing her usual speed, passing through the fifties, forties, and into the thirties without becoming winded. Turning right on New York Avenue, she passed Kings County Medical Center and kept going to Atlantic Avenue. About this point, her mind and body loosened up and she was able to relegate the emotions her father's call had invoked behind the wall built over a lifetime of living with a man devoid of emotion.

It did nothing to change her ambivalent feelings about her and Steve. Though it had been her idea, the sex and sleeping in the same room, she still felt they'd moved too fast. But would he understand if she asked him to move back to the den, while still having sex with her? Probably not.

Head down, her shoes slapping the wet pavement in a steady rhythm, Maria came to a park at North Conduit Avenue, not paying attention to where she was going until a man stepped in front of her. His leer was almost a physical thing as his eyes moved down to her feet and back up, lingering on her chest. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out all alone at night?"

Rolling her eyes, Maria made to go around, more than a little annoyed when he moved to stop her. "Out of my way," she bit out.

The shuffle of feet behind her indicated that the creep had back-up. Good. Then this would be a fair fight, if it came to that. She counted three others, to go by their harsh breathing and the stench of sweat mixed with beer and spices from a recent meal. A quick glance over her shoulder and back to the first guy confirmed her assessment. Four men, twenties, saggy pants, over-priced sneakers, ball caps, one with it on backwards, probably carrying switchblades, and at least one packing heat. But that was just a guess.

The first guy, dark-skinned, possibly of Italian descent, nodded, and his friends spread out to surround her. "No need to be so rude, babe. We just wanna get to know ya better. Maybe party a little."

Keeping her voice even, without emotion, Maria readied herself for a fight. To throw them off, she smiled and switched to Russian. " _Vy dokazatel'stvo, chto Bog yest' chuvstvo yumora_."

His look of confusion made her want to laugh, but she didn't. She'd save that for a time when she needed a pick-me-up.

"What the hell! Speak English, b****!" His hands clenched into fists, ready to press what he perceived as an advantage.

Then, Maria stepped forward until they were less than two feet apart and she could see herself reflected in his dark eyes, widened with just a sliver of fear. Carefully enunciating each word, she told him again, "I'm only going to say this one more time, a*****. Get _out_ of my _way_."

His right hand reached behind him, coming up with a switchblade. The ease with which he held it spoke of experience in its use. "You're coming with us, b****."

Taking a step back, arms hanging loosely at her side, Maria let a smirk take over, knowing it would further enrage her adversary. He nodded, and two of his pals grabbed her from behind, holding onto her arms. She let the smirk slide away. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."

~~O~~

During the commercial, Steve got up to get another beer. He'd been watching games for several hours, and Maria still hadn't come down. Changing direction, he climbed to the second floor, and though she had invited him to stay in her room, he still knocked. "Maria?"

Turning the knob, he slowly eased the door open, ready to close it again if she was still sleeping. But that wasn't the case. The bedside lamp was on though Maria wasn't in the room. Steve made a quick search of the upstairs, without success. Standing in the hall, he dialed her phone, hearing an answering buzz as it vibrated on the dresser. The caller ID showed his face smiling out at him. He ended the call before it went to voice mail. The blue light was already blinking to indicate she had a message. He didn't want to invade her privacy, but had to know where she'd gone, and the phone could provide a clue.

There were four missed calls. One from Coulson, two from an unknown number, and one from Robert Hill. She also had several texts, though he didn't read them, all from Robert Hill. His curiosity turned to concern. Why did she leave without telling him where she was going, or at least that she was going out?

Annoyed, he went down to the first floor and returned to watching the baseball game while listening for Maria. At the top of the ninth inning, the front door opened. Steve jumped up to greet her, stopping to stare at her soggy, disheveled appearance, and the marks on her knuckles.

She looked at him and smiled as if they'd run into each other on the street. "Hey. What's up?"

"That's _my_ question, Maria. Where did you go?" Steve was careful to keep his tone even and not accusatory.

"Went for a run to clear my head." He held up her hand, and she waved away his concern as she went into the downstairs bathroom. She took off the soaked hoodie and hung it over the shower rod. "It's nothing."

Leaning in the doorway, watching her wash her hands, Steve couldn't help wondering if this had anything to do with them finally sleeping together. "You sneak out of the house for a run and come back looking like you've been in a fight. It doesn't _look_ like nothing."

Maria dried her hands, and patted his cheek as she squeezed past and headed for the kitchen. "A couple of guys messed with the wrong girl. They won't be bothering anyone for a while." She opened the refrigerator. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."

Seeing that he wasn't going to get more than a vague response, Steve left her alone and went back to his game. Maria joined him a few minutes later with a sandwich and a huge serving of potato salad. "Who's playing, and what's the score?"

~~O~~

The game ended, and Steve shut off the television, hoping that Maria would be ready to talk. She carried her plate to the kitchen and came back to lean in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching him with an unblinking stare that had unsettled more than one subordinate.

He walked over to stand in front of her, taking note of her defensive posture. "Is something wrong?"

Her eyebrows drew together over her nose. "No. Why?"

"When you didn't come down, I went looking for you. You have missed calls and texts." For the first time since Steve had known her, she looked guilty. She dropped her eyes to the floor and turned away from him. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the stiffness in her back told him it wouldn't be a good idea. "I didn't read them. I wouldn't. Not without your permission."

She huffed at him. "Can we _not_ do this?"

"Do you regret what happened last night and today?"

Maria cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "No."

"Want me to move back to the den?"

Again, her shoulders and back stiffened. Then, "No."

There was a chance that Maria would reject any form of physical contact, but Steve had to try. He lightly gripped her right shoulder, urging her to face him, and he was encouraged when she offered little resistance. "Maria, who is Robert Hill?"

She turned her head, and Steve gently forced her to look at him again. "My father."

"Why are you avoiding him?" At her questioning stare, he explained, "I saw the missed calls and texts. Won't he worry if he doesn't hear back?"

A derisive snort came out, and she smiled without humor. "We've only spoken once since my sophomore year of college. _Why_ would I want to talk to him now?"

Even though he had only a few pieces of the puzzle that made up Maria Hill, Steve filled in the blank spaces and saw the full picture. He didn't like what he was seeing. "He blames _you_ for your mother's death."

Again, Maria turned away from him, and he knew it was to hide a show of emotion. "The temperature dropped to negative forty-five with wind chills in the negative fifties. After a week of blizzard conditions, the grid couldn't take the strain. All of Chicago was blacked out, and though the hospital had emergency generators, it still wasn't enough. She died less than a day after I was born.

"Later, that _cat_ was the one high point in my childhood, and _she_ died while I was away at college. He didn't even have the decency to call and tell me. I found out when I went home for summer break." She avoided his touch as she walked around him to go sit in the window seat, staring out at the rain. "I moved into off-campus student housing, and we haven't spoken since."

"That was what, fifteen years ago? You obviously don't have the same phone." She shrugged. "So why is he in your contact list?"

She didn't answer.

Steve had known from the beginning that getting under her defenses wouldn't be easy, but he'd done it. Now, she was pushing him out again, and he wouldn't let that happen. He sat on the end of the window seat and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close, refusing to let go even when she tried to get away. She hit him, pushed at his chest and punched him on the shoulder, and he trapped her arms to make her stop. Eventually, she gave up and just accepted the inevitable.

After a while, she fell asleep. Steve carried her up to her room and lay her on the bed. He removed her shoes and pulled the covers up to her neck. Then he changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed, staying as far from her as he could, providing support without physical contact. Just as he was about to go to sleep, Maria patted the bed until she found him. He took that as a sign, and cuddled into her back, dropping a brief kiss on her neck.

In the morning, neither one mentioned the night before. After breakfast, he helped Maria pack and drove her to a private airport so she could fly back to D.C. for a meeting with Coulson, leaving Steve alone in the huge brownstone. He texted Natasha, wording his demand for her location as diplomatically as possible. Her response was the same as before: _We're making progress, but he's still not ready. Talk to you soon._

The end of the month was coming up, and Steve didn't see any reason to stay in Brooklyn. He packed his belongings, shoved them in the trunk of the car, and cruised by the realtor's office to drop off the keys. She wasn't in the office so he gave them to the receptionist along with his phone number and email address so she could send him a bill for any damages.

Soon, he was on I-95 headed back to D.C. Around Philly, he saw a billboard advertising vintage WWII memorabilia. Seeing a chance to make up for the antipathy he'd held for Coulson's interest in him and his life, he pulled off the highway and followed the signs to the store.

 **Dooney's Apartment**

 **A Week Later**

"Ow! Crap!" Clint came out of Dooney's walk-in closet carrying a duffle bag, an armful of clothes and a box, rubbing the top of his head. The duffle bag had snagged on the box, knocking it onto Clint's head. The manufacturer's mark showed it to be made of koa wood, the second most common tree on the Hawaiian Islands. Its high polish reflected the light off the reddish brown striations making it look nearly new. There was no lock, just a snap closure that had come loose when it fell.

He finished packing the clothes and personal items Dooney requested, zipped the bag, and set it aside to pick up the koa box. Opening it would be an invasion of his friend's privacy, but Clint had broken it. The least he could do was fix it, and to do that, he had to remove the contents.

Inside, Clint found the usual items, a small stack of letters tied with a white ribbon yellowed with age, photos, a locket, a set of gold wedding bands, newspaper clippings, a lock of blonde hair secured with a blue ribbon, a movie ticket stub, a ceramic Christmas ornament with Dooney's given name and the date of his birth, August 8, 1973. That meant Dooney was forty-one, four years older than he admitted to, and five years older than Laura.

Clint put everything aside to examine the closure on his way into the home office for tools. It only took a few minutes to make the repairs, and hopefully, his friend wouldn't know the difference.

As he was replacing the items in the order he removed them, a white envelope that had gotten stuck to the others fell to the floor. It was addressed: _Duane, to be opened on your 30_ _th_ _birthday. Love, Mom._

Obviously, his friend hadn't opened the letter, and though he didn't know the contents, Clint understood Dooney's reluctance. If _he'd_ received such a letter, the last link between him and his mother, it would still be unopened, because doing so would, essentially, sever that link. And once again, thinking of his mother reminded him of the conversation he and Dooney'd had about favorite songs. Shaking his head, Clint finished refilling the box. At the last moment, he decided to keep the letter out, adding it to the duffle bag. He didn't want to force Dooney to do something he didn't want to do, but he needed the push of an older "sibling".

From what he could get out of Banner, Dooney was responding well to the treatment so far. Cho either didn't feel comfortable voicing an opinion without further study, or she just wouldn't tell _him_. He wanted to tell her to get over whatever bug she had up her ass. The source of her animosity was clear, and he could've told her why he'd turned down her offers of dinner and drinks, but she wasn't in the loop for a reason. The number of people who knew about Laura, Cooper and Lila were few, and it had to stay that way to keep them safe.

Every day he thought about all he'd told Loki while under his influence. Not once had the demi-god asked him about his family, only what would help him achieve his goal of dominating Earth. He'd wanted to know more about Banner, and Clint had told him the truth. He knew little about the physicist that couldn't be found online. However, Selvig knew Banner personally, and he'd answered all of Loki's questions and more. Loki had used that knowledge to incite Banner to transform into the Hulk as a distraction for his escape. Clint had been the one to suggest blowing up one of the engines as a means to keep the crew too busy making sure the helicarrier didn't plunge into the ocean so that Loki and his actions would become a lower priority.

What Loki hadn't counted on was Natasha's determination to save her best friend. If their fight had gone just a little differently, Natasha would be dead, and Clint would be in prison for the rest of his life. And not just any prison. SHIELD had a special facility for certain types of criminals. Of course, she might've killed him, but Clint didn't think it a strong possibility. Natasha would've let him go rather than have to watch his wife and kids mourn his death.

Shaking his head, Clint replaced the box in the closet, picked up the duffle bag and let himself out of the apartment. Just three days ago, Banner and Cho started the next phase of injections, the ones that would do the work of curing Dooney, giving him his life back. They asked him not to visit for a while just in case there were complications.

Clint had taken the chance to make a quick visit home to give Laura a report in person and spend some time with the kids. He also took a turn through the fields to check up on the crops and get a rundown on the last few weeks from the foreman. In that time, he managed to get the pick-up running so he could transport the supplies he needed for the new renovation project. When he told Laura his idea, she'd given him _that_ look, the one that made him feel like a naughty schoolboy, and not in the fun way. But in the end, she'd agreed. She always did. It was a testament to her more than him.

Then this morning, Dooney called, sounding stronger than he had since the day he told Clint he was terminal. The clothes he'd been wearing when Clint took him to the lab had been disposed of. Why Cho felt the need, no one, even Banner, knew. Dooney asked for clothes, his favorite novel, a first edition he'd been reading as long as Clint had known him, and a photo of his mother.

Clint also included the letter from his mom and a photo of Dooney with Kiba that had been taken without his or her knowledge on one of the days they'd all been at the brownstone. Even Clint could tell his friend was highly attracted to the former Army EOD, and Laura agreed. Her half-brother had never looked at a woman the way he looked at Kiba. The note Kiba left for Clint hadn't said where she'd gone. Just asked him to give her note to Dooney. And he'd done so, leaving before he had to see the look of disappointment that was sure to follow. If he really wanted to know where she'd gone, Clint could've easily gotten the info from one of his contacts, or even Jarvis. However, it was none of his business.

He pulled up in front of Stark Tower, gave the Hummer keys to the valet, and headed for the lab, hoping his brother-in-law wouldn't hate him for what he'd done.

 **TBC**


	9. Chapter 32

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_. This chapter also has a crossover with _Supernatural._

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 32**

 **Sioux Falls, SD**

 **Collegiate High School**

 **Computer Lab**

More than two weeks of following Will Davenport around gave Kiba a good working knowledge of the Sioux Falls area. Good enough to be sent out on her own to some of the more tame calls, such as Caleb Nash, and his erectile dysfunctional bull.

She sorted out his current complaint, filed a report, and headed for the high school to roust a group of teenage boys out of the computer lab. They hadn't taken anything. They were trying to get online to watch porn so their parents wouldn't catch them doing it at home. Not one of the boys was under six feet tall, and tried to use their greater height to intimidate the newbie on the force.

Kiba tucked her thumbs into her belt, all weight on one foot, hip thrust to the side. "Boys, I was an Army EOD for almost ten years. Two days before I left Iraq, I disarmed an IED that would've leveled the south end of town and left the surrounding area uninhabitable. The guys on my squad weren't all that tall, but they _were_ armed. Not much scares me, and _you_ don't even come close. Now move on before I call your parents to come get you. No, I don't want to hear your 'my mom's an attorney' speech, Jacob Lester. Get out, and don't come back until the first day of school. Next summer, get jobs instead of sitting around being bored for three months or I might be tempted to cast my vote for year-round classes."

She nodded toward the exit, and the boys scattered, each muttering, "Yes, ma'am" under their breath as they passed her. Hopefully, they wouldn't be back for a while.

Pressing the talk button on her radio, she stated clearly, "Romeo-Eight-Five to dispatch."

" _Go ahead, Romeo-Eight-Five_." The voice belonged to Elyze Collier. Out of uniform, she looked like the stereotypical soccer mom. She even drove a minivan. But looks were deceiving. Elyze was thirty-six, blonde, blue-eyed, five foot eight in height, weight a buck forty, three kids and a husband. She was also an expert marksman, proficient in hand-to-hand, and was a third level black belt in judo and a first level black belt in Tae Kwon Do. In her off hours, she taught both at the Martial Arts Studio on Chestnut and Madison.

"All clear at the high school. Jacob Lester and his posse again. Put the fear of Sparks in 'em."

Elyze chuckled at the vision of five-six Kiba going up against five six-foot-plus teens and coming out on top. " _Roger, Romeo-Eight-Five._ "

"Going Code seven at Java Hut."

" _Roger that. Pick me up a ham and Swiss on Panini, and something chocolate to drink._ "

Kiba grinned. "Will do. Romeo-Eight-Five out."

Back at her squad car, Kiba opened the trunk to get her wallet. In the back, with all the usual cop paraphernalia, she found a locked waterproof storage container with a strange symbol on top. She found the key to it on her key ring, and opened it. Inside, she found an odd assortment of items: salt, borax, a container labeled as holy water, several lighters, something called an EMF detector, lighter fluid, and a bottle of what looked like red paint. On top was a handwritten book with phrases in Latin, and included more symbols that resembled the one on the outside of the crate.

Farther in the back, she found a similar case that held a sword. Puzzled, she made a note to ask Davenport when she returned to the station. Tucking the book under her arm, she locked both cases, shoved her wallet into her back pocket, and slammed the trunk.

Tossing the book in the seat next to her, Kiba belted in, started the engine and drove to the Java Hut. Taking her iced coffee and egg salad on rye out to the patio, she opened the strange book, turning the pages slowly, examining each one in detail.

On the first of the pages written in Latin, she found a passage. Some of the words, she remembered from college. Others she'd have to look up. " _Ecorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…_ "

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" The book was ripped from her hand, knocking her drink over. Good thing it was almost empty. Kiba rushed to soak up the mess on the table, looking up to see the angry face of the sheriff. Mills closed the book, looking around with a sliver of fear in her eyes.

"I found it in the trunk of my cruiser. Just trying to figure out what it says."

Taking a seat, Mills drew on the straw, the level of her drink going down considerably. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, though at first, it seemed as though she would use the back of her hand. Something had rattled the woman she thought wasn't afraid of anything. "Davenport didn't tell you the significance of the cases and their contents?"

"No, ma'am. Not a word."

The book was scooped up and shoved into the inside pocket of her jacket. Mills turned her left wrist over. "I have an appointment with the mayor. Come to my house tonight." The sheriff stood. "And whatever you do, don't talk to anyone about what's in those cases. No one."

Kiba stared at Mills for a long moment, suddenly realizing she was waiting for an answer. "Yeah. Sure. Seven?"

The other woman nodded, took one step, and stopped. "And bring whatever your poison is. Lots of it."

Watching the sheriff return to her cruiser, for the first time since her interview, Kiba wondered if taking this job had been a wise choice because it seemed as if everyone in this town was squirrely.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

 **Outside D.C.**

Alone in D.C. with nothing to do, Steve packed up and headed for the temporary SHIELD training facility to assist with turning the new trainees into agents. Santino nodded a greeting, but didn't use their previous association to get special treatment. To Steve, that said more about his character than anything else.

He was at the facility for over a week when Maria showed up with Coulson, his left arm in a sling. There had been rumors circulating about his involvement in an incident with a group of Inhumans, people with special powers achieved through natural mutation or scientific experimentation. Ironically, by that definition, _he_ would be considered inhuman, though he had no plans to join them.

There were also whispers of the possibility that anyone with these special powers would be required to register with the government. To Steve, it sounded too much like the Nazi persecution of the Jews in Pre-war Germany. At the moment, it was only another rumor. Still, he would keep his eyes and ears open.

Though he had lunch or dinner with Maria nearly every day, she hadn't come to his room or asked him to share hers. It wasn't the sex he missed, though he admitted that was part of it. What he missed most was just spending time with his girl. Whether she thought of him as her man, he had no way of knowing.

Today had been rough on the recruits. He and the other squad leaders had taken their charges on a long run that left most of them exhausted while Steve had hardly broken a sweat. He was careful not to overtax his squad though. It wouldn't do to take his frustration with his personal life out on others. His mom had taught him better than that.

After sending his squad to the showers and giving them the next three days off, Steve returned to his room. Leaving the lights off, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it in the laundry bin. He sat down on the side of the bed to take off his shoes, sensing he wasn't alone a split second before Maria's arm snaked around his waist and her chin rested on his shoulder. "About time you showed up."

"Been busy." Annoyed that she'd been staying away at night then showed up without a word, Steve didn't respond to her sultry whisper. Just continued to change out of his workout clothes, undressing as if he were alone. He went into the bathroom, showered and came out with just a towel around his waist to find her still on the bed. "Why are you here, Maria?"

On her knees, she crawled to the edge of the mattress, and that's when he noticed she was wearing the red and black plaid bustier. Her bottom half was covered, if you could call it that, in narrow black lace that curved down in the center leaving her bare from just above her navel. "Found this in with my clothes, and remembered how much you liked it."

She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer, and though he was annoyed with her, he was drawn like a magnet, skimming his hands around her back to bring her against his chest as they kissed. Then, she pulled away, just a few inches. "Medical did tests. Very little of your DNA is left in my blood. All that superness is gone."

Hugging her to him, Steve kissed her temple. "We knew it wouldn't last."

"That's why I stayed away. Woke up one morning and I could feel the difference." She sighed and lay her head on his shoulder. "I'm just an ordinary human again."

Steve had to laugh at that. Setting her back so he could see her eyes, he let the love he felt for her show. "There is nothing ordinary _about_ you, Maria."

Maria smiled. "Oh, Captain America, you say the sweetest things."

She kissed him, and he returned it with equal vigor, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't hurt her. Then, he felt her hand slide down his back to trace the edge of the towel around to the front. Her fingers worked the corner free and it dropped to the floor.

 **Vermont**

Waiting until he was certain that Natasha had gone to sleep-on the sofa again, James went into his room, and changed for bed. Instead of reading the novel on his nightstand, he opened the drawer and drew out the papers that Natasha had given him from the library. These weeks since coming here, his mind had calmed somewhat. He was having longer and longer periods where he felt as if he might actually be able to become a part of this world. To do that, he would need _all_ of his memories. Tonight, he would start with Isolde.

One by one, James unfolded the pages and lay them on the bed. Natasha had only printed one photo, the one that had made him sick. His stomach still heaved, and he swallowed hard to stop it. After a few deep breaths, he felt able to go on.

Though he didn't remember learning German, he was able to read the passages that had printed out in that language. When he came to the few paragraphs indicating the reason for Isolde's imprisonment, he was angered and sickened once more.

Someone who had the ear of Reinhard Heydrich, the SS- _Obergruppenführer,_ supervisor of the _Einsatzgruppen_ , who reported only to Heinrich Himmler himself, had seen them together and had turned her in for collaborating with the enemy. Though she'd told them over and over that she knew nothing about American troop movements in Germany or an elite squad called the Howling Commandoes, she wasn't believed. She'd been tortured to death, and it was his fault. If he hadn't spent the night with Isolde prior to their raid on… Try as he might, James couldn't remember any other details of those next few days except the train.

He needed to move, to run, far and fast, until he could go no further, but he couldn't leave Natasha alone, unprotected. Bucky Barnes hadn't been able to protect the last woman he cared for, and would die before he'd let any harm come to Natasha.

Out in the other room, James shuffled through the pages one more time, stopping on the photo of a mass grave that purported to be Isolde's place of burial. He crumpled it all into a ball and tossed it into the fire with the others. It flared briefly, then was consumed.

Turning his back on the past, James went to the locked cabinet where the weapons were stored and took out a handgun. He didn't know or care what make and model, just that it worked. He dragged an armchair to a spot where he could watch Natasha and the front door. He already knew the alarms had been set; he'd done it himself after she'd gone to sleep. This way, he would be the first line of defense if someone were to attack.

Holding the weapon in his right hand, James seated himself, both feet on the floor, his eyes never leaving Natasha's face. The _Einsatzgruppen_ would not take her from him the way they'd taken Isolde.

 **Sioux Falls, SD**

Jody Mills stood looking out the window, a glass of red wine in one hand. On the coffee table sat one empty bottle and another that was nearly gone. A layer of salt completely covered the window sill. It was on all the window sills and doorways.

Sparks sat in the armchair still holding her empty glass, staring at nothing as if it were something incredible important. Then, she leaned forward to grab the bottle to refill her glass. She downed the rest of the wine and set the glass on the table as she got to her feet. "Should've brought more."

Sparks came to stand next to Jody, hugging herself as if she were cold. Jody glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "Any questions?"

Sparks scoffed. "Yeah. Lots." She turned to face the other way. "So all that crap in the Supernatural books and on the show is real?"

Smiling without humor, Jody led Sparks back to the sofa. "As real as it gets. Sam and Dean Winchester aren't their real names, of course."

"Too bad. Those are cool names." The women looked at each other and laughed. Shaking her head Sparks slumped down in her seat. "Do they look anything like the actors?"

Jody waggled her hand. "The actors are a little better looking than the real deal, but yeah."

"No offense, sheriff, but I hope I _never_ have to meet them."

Again, the women laughed, and Jody's "amen" was heartfelt. "Sorry you took the job?"

Sparks looked up at the ceiling for a moment then back to Jody. "No. I like it here. The people, the area. It's just what I need to get my life back on track now that I've left my EOD days behind."

Raising her now empty glass, Jody saluted Sparks. "Welcome to Sioux Falls."

"Thanks. So what's there to do on your day off aside from keeping a look-out for angels and demons hanging out in the local watering hole?"

 **Stark Tower**

When pacing at home, Dooney would walk the length of the apartment, around the living room, through the kitchen, stop at the 'fridge, and return to his office or the bedroom. Here, there wasn't room. Making due, he walked to the end of the room, approximately twenty-five feet, and back again, and again, and kept walking until he lost count of the laps and was hungry again. "Jarvis, _mi amigo_. I need a little somethin' to fill my stomach. Anything but liver, okra or Jell-O."

" _Again, sir_? _You consumed a full meal plus dessert not three hours ago_."

He sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his hands together restlessly. "Yeah, well, Banner said increased appetite could be a side effect of the injections. Maybe you should let him and that lady doctor know what's goin' on."

" _I've sent them a message. Your meal and the doctors will arrive at approximately the same time. Will there be anything else, Mr. Nelson_?"

Having thought long and hard about this particular subject, Dooney decided it was time. If the course of treatment laid out by Cho and Banner didn't work, he wanted to know the truth before he died. "Get me everything you can find on Theodore Edmund Ross. Mom said his birthday was February 7, 1941, in Flagstaff, Arizona. Don't know if he had any other family. Last known location, Jacksonville, Florida, March 1976. He's my father."

" _I'll send it to your computer, sir_."

Standing, Dooney paced over to the window that looked out into the hall. "Take your time. I hear my jailers comin'. And don't say anything about that search to anyone, especially Barton."

" _Mum's the word, sir_."

A moment later, Cho and Banner came around the corner in their rabbit suits just ahead of a young man carrying a sealed tray. The white-clad kitchen worker pushed the tray into the pass-through and walked away.

Cho put up the hood of her suit and waited for Banner to do the same. They stepped into the room and shut the air lock door just as he uncovered his meal.

Without looking directly at him, Cho scanned the record of Dooney's meals. "According to this, you've consumed close to four thousand calories since this time yesterday morning."

He poured a glass of iced tea, glancing at the doctors through his longish hair hanging in his face. "Nearly a K of it was a super-rich chocolate dessert my buddy Jarvis served up."

" _Correction, Mr. Nelson_ ," the AI interrupted, " _I do not personally prepare the meals. I simply pass the request on to the chef and her staff_."

 _Whatevs, as Cooper would say_. "Got it."

Banner shifted his feet and crossed his arms. Not easy in the rabbit suit. "We've been monitoring your vitals. You've ingested more than twice the daily number of calories consumed by the average adult your age, weight, height and metabolism with no corresponding increase in weight. Odd, considering you've been sedentary the last few weeks, and the only exercise you've gotten here is pacing, and the stress test this morning."

"Are you feeling tired at all?" Cho added.

"No. Why?"

The doctors exchanged a look Dooney couldn't interpret, Cho speaking for them. "You've been up for well over twenty-four hours and haven't so much as taken a nap."

Dooney scooped up a forkful of what looked like loaded mashed potatoes and shoved it in his mouth. Whatever it was, it tasted nothing like potatoes. It went down easy and left no strange aftertaste. "That a problem?"

Banner twitched one shoulder. "We're not certain at this point. It could be indicative of your condition, that the injection is causing an inversion of the lymphoblasts into…"

"What does that _mean_?"

Cho gave him a bland smile. "It means you may get out of here sooner than we thought."

"Yeah? When?"

"Aside from the increased appetite and not sleeping, you've responded well to the treatment. Perhaps another few days. After the next injection, we'll do a few more tests. If you continue to respond at this rate, we'll have you leave the isolation room, and venture outside. Tentatively plan on going home by the end of the week at the latest. We'll continue to monitor your progress over the next couple of years."

Excited, and not wanting to show it, Dooney sat on the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress. "I'll try not to get my hopes up, doc."

Dooney waited five minutes after Banner and Cho left to take Kiba's note from the bedside table and read it through one more time. "Yo, Jarvis."

" _Yes, Mr. Nelson_?"

"You could be seein' the last of me soon, and I was wonderin' if you'd be amenable to doin' me one more super-deluxe favor."

If Jarvis had been a person, Dooney swore he would've huffed in frustration. " _Of course, sir. And it's no bother._ "

"I need to call someone." Dooney recited the number he'd memorized the first night he and Kiba spent together.

There was a long pause, giving Dooney the impression that the AI was trying the number several times. " _That number is not currently in use. To whom do you wish to speak?_ "

"Kiba Hardison. She was stayin' at my apartment while I'm incarcerated, then she kinda took off." Another pause ensued making Dooney wonder exactly how far-reaching the AI's influence ran.

" _I've located information on Miss Hardison, sir, including a phone number. Shall I send it to your computer_?"

Excitement whispered through Dooney, though he took great pains to show little outward emotion. "Please do. Just out of curiosity, where'd you get it all? The info, I mean."

In his mind, Dooney saw an android face, the lips pursed to prevent a grin and failing. " _I never reveal my sources, sir_."

"Don't ask, don't tell. Gotcha." He booted up the computer and sat down at the desk, his forehead crinkling in thought at what he was reading. "Can I get a little privacy?"

" _Of course, sir. Call if you require additional assistance_."

The information Jarvis collected was mind-boggling. Why hadn't Kiba mentioned, well, any of it? Dooney needed to pace and time to think where to go from here. His hadn't expected her to wait around for him, but he'd hoped to get to know her better before scaring her off. What he hadn't anticipated was that she'd move on so soon.

He didn't like being without female companionship. That was one of the reasons for his love 'em and leave 'em lifestyle. Then, Rosalie came along and gave him a glimpse of what it would be like to be in a long-term relationship. Not that she'd spoiled him for other women. Their association had been strictly physical. And because of her, Dooney now knew that he was open and ready for something more than one night stands. _Guess I should do some movin' on too_.

Trouble was, he now knew he didn't _want_ to move on. He wanted Kiba to be with him and not halfway across the country where they have tornadoes in summer, and blizzards and ice storms in winter. Growing up in the south hadn't prepared him for such extremes, but he'd survived the last ten New York winters. Surely he could live through at least one winter in South Dakota.

With the decision made, Dooney finished his meal, and lay down on the bed with the remote to finish watching the series he'd started a few days ago. He fell asleep between episodes seven and eight, and didn't wake up for more than twelve hours.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

 **Outside D.C.**

While Maria slept, Steve climbed out of bed and stretched. The twin bed was barely big enough for him, let alone sharing it with Maria. Wondering how to go about requesting a double without explaining why, he went to the dresser and took out the vintage trading cards he bought from the store in Philly. He sat down at the small table in the corner, picked up a fountain pen and thought over what to say to one of his biggest fans. Maybe just a signature. According to Maria, Coulson's birthday was coming up in a few days. Steve would give the cards to the director of SHIELD as a gift.

He signed his name to each of the cards, capped the pen, and set it to the side. The last of the cards was returned to its protective cover just as Maria came to sit in his lap. With his arms around her waist, Steve pulled her close. She picked up one of the cards and smiled. "He'll love them, Steve. And keep it low-key. He doesn't like a fuss."

Her fingers toyed with the hair above his neck. It tickled, but not enough to make her stop. "My birthday's tomorrow. Got any special plans?"

She waggled her hand. "What do you want for your ninety-sixth birthday?"

One eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch as he slid one arm under her knees and stood. "I have a few ideas, if you'd like to hear them."

Steve lay her on the bed, and joined her. Maria smiled up at him. "Later. I'm kind of busy at the moment."

"Me too." And he kissed her.

 **Vermont**

Standing on the porch with his arms crossed, James watched the sky. It had been raining off and on for two days, though it had stopped for the moment. Being inside the cabin for so long made him restless. He needed to get out.

Going to his room, he pulled a hooded waterproof jacket from his closet, this one purchased while he and Natasha had been shopping. It was green instead of the dark blue, khaki and black he'd been wearing, and he found he liked it better than the others. He shoved his arms into the sleeves, zipped the front and pulled the hood up as he returned to the other room.

His hand was on the doorknob when music began to play. The tune was vaguely familiar, as was the gravelly voice.

 _No one to talk with, all by myself  
No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf  
Ain't misbehavin', savin' my love for you, for you, for you, for you._

 _I know for certain the one I love  
I'm through with flirtin', it's you that I'm thinkin' of  
Ain't misbehavin', savin' my love for you._

 _Like Jack Horner in the corner  
Don't go nowhere, what do I care?  
Your kisses are worth waitin' for, baby._

Closing his eyes, he searched for the name, and it came to him. "Fats Waller. _Ain't Misbehavin'_."

"Very good," Natasha voice said from behind him, near the desk.

His hand dropped to his side, and James faced her, nodding his head in time with the last verse.

 _I don't stay out late, no place to go  
I'm home about eight, just me and my radio  
Ain't misbehavin', savin' all my love for you._

An instrumental began, and Natasha cut it off. "Steve said you liked jazz, and this was one of your favorites."

Without waiting for his reply, she touched the remote, and another song started. This one was also familiar. Slow and easy. Just right for dancing, if he remember correctly.

James took off the jacket and lay it over the back of the chair. Letting his memories guide him, he held out a hand, and Natasha put her smaller one into it. He gave a small tug to bring her into his arms as the song played, and they danced.

 _Gonna take a sentimental journey  
Gonna set my heart at ease  
Gonna make a sentimental journey  
To renew old memories_

 _I got my bag, I got my reservation  
Spend each dime I could afford  
Like a child in wild anticipation  
Long to hear that, "All aboard"_

 _Seven, that's the time we leave, at seven  
I'll be waiting up for heaven  
Counting every mile of railroad track  
That moves me back_

Briefly, an image flashed through his mind of a train traveling at a high rate of speed passing below where he and the others were grouped around a short wave radio, the rocks covered with ice and snow, the wind so cold he felt naked standing on the ridge. As always, he was on Steve's left. Their conversation was strange for the situation. Something about Coney Island.

Natasha's hair brushed against his chin, bringing him back to the present.

 _Never thought my heart could be so yearning  
Why did I decide to roam?  
Got to take a sentimental journey  
Sentimental journey home_

 _Got to take a sentimental journey  
Sentimental journey home_

When the song ended, they stopped moving, but didn't separate. Slowly, Natasha tilted her head back until he could see her green eyes, dark and wide, lips parted as if he'd surprised her again. He leaned toward her…

~~O~~

Natasha saw the intent to kiss her in Barnes' eyes, yet she hesitated before stepping out of his embrace. For just a moment, his hands extended as if reaching out for her, the look on his face begging her not to leave him. She turned away, grabbed the remote, and shut off the music. "That's enough for today. If you want to go for a run, go. I'll have lunch ready when you get back."

He put the jacket on and was out the front door so fast the slam made her wince. She sat down on the sofa, holding her head in her hands. She'd almost let him kiss her. "What were you _thinking_ , Romanoff?"

Getting to her feet, Natasha went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Hot soup would be best on a chilly and damp day like today. She took vegetables from the refrigerator, washed them and started chopping, using more force than necessary. A few minutes later, the rain started again.

Over an hour later, she heard dragging footsteps on the porch. She ran into the bathroom for a towel, meeting Barnes at the door. He was soaked to the skin and shivering. She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek finding it ice cold. " _Bozhe moi!_ You're freezing! Why did you stay out so long?"

Taking his hand, Natasha led him to the bathroom. She unzipped the jacket and stripped it off, dropping it in the corner. Next, she grabbed the hems of the both t-shirts. "Raise your arms."

He did as she commanded, and she pulled the shirts over his head, plopping them in the corner with the jacket. Grabbing another towel, she spread it on the seat of the toilet then reached for the closure on his pants, undoing them before he could stop her. The soggy material fell to his knees as she pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to sit. After making quick work of the shoes, socks and pants, she stood. "I'll turn up the heat and start a fire while you take a long hot shower. Don't get out until you stop shivering."

Barnes nodded, his hands going to the waist of his boxers. Natasha stepped out and shut the door. Going to the environmental controls, she turned it to heat and cranked it up. A fire was already laid in the fireplace, using a firestarter to get it going. Then she moved the armchair in front of it. She grabbed two blankets and lay them on the sofa while she started water for tea and dished up a bowl of soup.

By the time Barnes finished showering, Natasha had set up the tray in front of the fireplace with hot soup and tea. She didn't say anything, just pointed. He sat down and she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, tucked another over his lap, and moved the tray in front of him. "Eat. And when you're done, bedtime."

Natasha watched from the kitchen table as Barnes slowly spooned the soup into his mouth, and drank the tea. He made a face, but that was to be expected from the honey and lemon she put in it.

He finished eating, moved the tray to the side, wrapped the blanket around him, and just stared into the fire. When Natasha came to take the tray, his hand grabbed hers. Their eyes met, and he seemed about to say one thing, changing his mind at the last second. "Thank you."

She gave his hand a squeeze in return and smiled. "That's what friends are for, Barnes."

Natasha tensed when he didn't release her. "James."

"Pardon?"

"Please call me James."

Nodding, Natasha tugged her hand free. "James it is. I'll get your bed ready."

She had only been in his room a couple of times since they'd arrived at the cabin. In all this time, he had yet to do anything to personalize the room. She turned down the bed and fluffed the pillow.

Returning to the living room, she found James asleep in front of the fire, looking like a small boy who had stayed out too late playing in the snow, and had caught a chill. Pulling the sides of the blanket together in front, she mused that this was the closest she might ever get to mothering anyone. The choice of having children had been taken from her by the Red Room, and she'd never forgiven them.

Looking into his face, the lines of wariness and hardship had smoothed out, making him look more like the baby-faced young man from the 1940s than a cold-blooded assassin.

As it dried, his hair became wavy, and Natasha had a momentary urge to run her fingers through it. Instead, she got to her feet, turned out all the lights except the one on the desk, stirred the fire with the poker, and went into her room, the door closing with a soft click.

~~O~~

Sometime later, James began dreaming. His body twitched, feet moving as if running, and hands clenching into fists as he fought against invisible enemies. Facial features, calm in repose, twisted into a mask of torment. Growls, muttering, and the occasional whimper pushed from this throat indicating a range of emotions flitting through his subconscious so fast that he couldn't hold onto any one for more than a few seconds at a time.

His eyes snapped open, looking around, frantic, but it wasn't the cabin he was seeing. The image of a laboratory sprang up around him, filled with dim lighting and eerie figures moving in the dark, whispering in a language he didn't understand. He tried to get up, but he was held down with a strap across his chest, his right hand and both feet were shackled to the table.

Pain wracked the left side of his body, and he couldn't feel his left arm. Looking down, he saw that his arm was missing a few inches below the shoulder, the muscle shredded, and the bone snapped off, leaving a ragged end.

He groaned with renewed pain as a hand came out of the dark holding a syringe. A tourniquet was wrapped tightly around his right arm, and the needle plunged into his vein…

 **TBC**

 _Ain't_ _Misbehavin'_ is a song from the musical revue _Hot Chocolates_ , composed by Fats Waller and Harry Brooks with lyrics by Andy Razaf. Leo Reisman and His Orchestra was the first to take the song to the pop charts in 1929, followed by several artists including Bill Robinson, Gene Austin and Louis Armstrong.

 _Sentimental Journey_ is a popular song, published in 1944. The music was written by Les Brown and Ben Homer, and the lyrics were written by Bud Green.

 _Ecorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…_ = We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect…


	10. Chapter 33

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_. This chapter also has a crossover with _Supernatural._

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 33**

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

 **Outside D.C.**

 **July 4** **th**

Most of the new recruits had been given the holiday off to spend with their families. A few, like Steve and Maria, stayed behind, partially because they had no family, or none they wanted to spend time with. Coulson left on a mission to be fitted for a prosthesis.

Maria had taken Steve out to lunch for his birthday, and when they returned, she took his hand and led him down a hall to the simulator, a virtual reality room. At the door, she handed him a small gift wrapped package the size and shape of a cell phone though not as heavy.

"What's this?"

"Your birthday present. Open it."

He pulled the ribbon off and ripped into the paper. "You didn't have to get me anything." When the paper came off, Steve was prepared to be surprised and he was. Confused worked too. The package contained a piece of clear plastic two and a half inches by five inches. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Maria opened the door to the VR room and he followed her inside. The room was wide open with green walls marked into square segments. Off to one side, Steve spied a pair of stadium seats. Next to it was a cooler and small hot dog cart. They took their seats, and she tapped the rectangle of plastic. "Hold it up and flick your wrist."

Steve did as she said and suddenly they were in a baseball stadium circa 1927, behind home plate. Maria opened the cooler and took out two beers. He opened the bottle and took a swig while watching the New York Yankees and the Pittsburgh Pirates warming up on the field. "Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig…"

"The final game of the '27 World Series."

Excited, and trying to rein it in, Steve gestured at the field. "That was the year the Yankees led the American League in runs scored, hits, triples, home runs, base on balls, batting average, slugging average and on-base percentage. Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were at the top of their game. The team won a league record of one hundred and ten games, and finished with a nineteen-game lead over second place."

"To this day, they're considered to be the greatest team in the history of baseball. Sh! It's starting."

A little over two hours later, Steve and Maria returned to his room. Leaning against the wall, he looked into her beautiful face, mouth turned up into a smirk. She had him hook, line and sinker, and knew it. "Thank you. That was… the perfect gift."

"My idea. Stark and Jarvis helped make it a reality."

"Sneaky." He nodded at the door. "Would you like to come in?"

Her smile turned into a frown. "Not tonight." She turned to walk away, and disappointment made his stomach clench. Then, she was back. "Just kidding."

Suddenly, they were kissing, hot and desperate for each other. Steve's hands grabbed her behind the thighs and lifted, and Maria locked her ankles behind his back. With one hand, he opened the door, and they nearly fell into the room. He carried her to the bed, and soon, their clothes had been discarded as they played another, more satisfying game.

 **Germany**

 **Winter, 1945**

 _Steve opened the bulkhead door with his elbow and tossed Bucky ammo for his empty weapon, and together they took out Red Skull's soldier._

" _I had 'im on the ropes," Bucky said, both men standing over the dead soldier._

" _I know you did," Steve answered with complete honesty, and Bucky believed him._

 _The whine of an energy weapon alerted them to the presence of another of Red Skull's men. Steve jumped in front of him, bringing the shield up. "Get down!"_

 _The blast tore a hole in the side of the train, knocking both men for a loop. The shield lay in front of Bucky. He picked it up, using it to protect Steve as his friend had done seconds before. He fired at the heavily armed soldier, holding the shield in front of him._

 _Another blast from his opponent's weapon hit the shield, throwing Bucky out the gaping hole in the side of the train. At the last second, he managed to grab onto a bent and twisted pipe. The icy cold wind tore at his clothes and chilled his hands and face so thoroughly he could barely feel them._

 _Steve came to the opening. "Bucky!" He climbed out and started toward him. "Hang on!" When he got close enough, he reached out. "Grab my hand!"_

 _Holding on with just his left hand, the fingers frozen to the metal, Bucky strained to grab onto Steve's outstretched hand, his muscles cramping in the cold. Suddenly, his perilous handhold gave way. He fell through the icy air, screaming out in terror, knowing that within seconds he would be dead._

~~O~~

 _A face floated above him, round glasses perched on his nose, his mouth turned up in a gleeful smile that filled him with dread as he passed into oblivion._

 _The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying in a chair under a bright light, men in white coats standing in a semi-circle. They spoke to each other, but he couldn't understand them._

 _His left arm felt different, like it didn't belong to him. Lifting both hands, he turned them over, comparing the shiny silver metal of his left to the flesh and blood of his right. Seeing that he was awake, one of the men ventured too close. His left arm shot out and grabbed the man around the throat_.

What did you do to me?!

 _The words screamed inside his head, but he couldn't make himself understood. Then a needle pierced his skin and the world faded again._

 _The next time he awoke, he was alone, still strapped to the chair, sitting more upright so that he could see his surroundings. Electronic equipment lined the walls and squatted on tables. There was a desk, unoccupied. Through the frosted glass door he could see figures moving around, their silhouettes showing that they were armed._

 _Using all his strength, he pulled the left arm free, tearing the metal. Stunned, he did the same with the right, gasping as it came free just as easily without damaging the skin. He reached down and broke the shackles on his ankles, putting one foot then the other on the floor. Getting to his feet, he gripped the arm of the chair as he rode out a wave of dizziness. Putting his right hand to his head, he found his hair was much longer than he usually wore it. Way longer than the Army regs allowed. Touching his cheek, he felt the roughness of his beard._

Gotta get back to my unit.

 _He went to the cabinets that lined one wall, opening the doors and drawers looking for something to use as a weapon. A scalpel, a reflex hammer. Anything. He came up empty._

 _He crept to the door, hearing voices on the other side talking about nothing in particular. Guards. Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he slowly turned it until the door opened just a crack. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door wide immediately engaging the three men in hand-to-hand combat. He was outnumbered, and the other men were armed. He might die at their hands, but dammit, he'd go down fighting, not strapped to a table._

 _Within seconds, it was done, and he was standing over three unconscious men. Stunned, all he could do is stare. His fighting skills weren't bad, but he'd never taken on three heavily armed soldiers and won without a lot of help._

 _Searching for the exit, he found it on the far side of the huge room. It too was filled with electronics, the most he'd seen in any one place except the Stark Expo a few days before he shipped out. He sidled up to the door, an enormous metal thing that had to be several inches thick, and probably guarded. It opened like a bank vault, by spinning the wheel. As he approached, he could see his reflection in the door. But something was wrong. Around his left eye he found a bruise that seemed to have been caused by whatever left an indention across his forehead and cheek. He looked down and saw that his entire left arm had been replaced with a shiny metal. Then he remembered the fall and the surgery._

 _Flexing the metal hand, he could feel the strength in it, realizing that that was how he'd defeated the guards. He also discovered he was shirtless. He'd need a disguise, if he wanted to escape and return to his unit._

 _He took a shirt from one of the guards. It was a little big, but it couldn't be helped. He tucked it in as he crept down the hall to the corner. Slapping the cap on his head, he stood tall walking with confidence, as if he belonged here. The weapon he'd also taken from the guard slapped against his thigh, a comforting weight on his hip as he approached what looked like the exit. He opened the door, and immediately, an alarm began to sound._

 _Darting outside, he looked around to get his bearing, his shoulders slumping in dismay at finding himself inside an enormous cave instead of a forest or city. He heard shouts and the thundering of many feet coming in his direction. He took off running, finally finding a hiding place under a heavy tarp. Holding the gun out in front of him, he was prepared to take at least a few of the enemy with him. He wouldn't go down easy, he promised himself._

 _Backing up, he crawled behind stacks of boxes, freezing in place, head cocked to the side, listening intently. Just twenty yards to his left he spied the wheels of a jeep he could hotwire and get the hell out of this place. His pursuers passed his hiding place and kept going. He gave them a few seconds then threw the tarp aside and ran for the jeep._

 _Just shy of his goal, a squad of men stepped in front of him, armed with strange weapons. He recognized the symbol on their uniforms: HYDRA. He'd been captured by Schmidt, the guy with the red face._

 _The men raised their weapons and fired._

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

 **Outside D.C.**

Her back pressed against the wall and Steve in front of her, Maria slept peacefully, a smile on her face and her arm across his chest. That's how she knew he was having another bad dream. They started last week and had no known cause. If it kept up, she'd suggest he see the staff shrink. On the upside, all he needed to nudge him out of the dream was a quick shake, and it would be over for the night.

Just as on the other nights, the dream started an hour after they'd gone to sleep. However, this time, the shaking didn't help. He called out incoherently, his head turning side to side. Maria got to her knees, and turned him onto his back, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him harder. Still, he didn't wake. She shook him again, calling his name. "Steve! Steve, wake up!"

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the arms, and rolled until she was under him, anger twisting his handsome face into a mask. She pressed the heels of her palms against his shoulders and pushed while at the same time using her legs in a maneuver taught to her by Romanoff.

Steve went over the side and fell against the base of the table with a crash, rolling onto his back. "Steve?"

~~O~~

Steve awoke when he hit the floor, Maria's concerned face floating above him as she sat on the side of the bed. He sat up and turned to lean against the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?"

"You had another dream." Maria climbed over him, and went into the bathroom, coming back with a cup of water. He sipped it gratefully. She sat next to him, holding his free hand. "That's three nights this week alone. Maybe you should talk to the shrink."

He finished off the water and brought his knees up, resting one arm on them. "The difference tonight is I remember the dream."

Releasing Maria's hand, he hugged her close. One hand touched his bare chest. "Tell me."

"I dreamt about Bucky after he was captured by Schmidt. About the surgery to replace his left arm, and his first escape attempt."

"He's your best friend. Naturally you're going to wonder what it was like for him."

Inhaling deeply, Steve brushed his fingers over the skin of Maria's bicep below the sleeve of his t-shirt she'd worn to bed. "He's trying to escape, and at one point, he sees his reflection in a metal door, and as he gets closer, it's not Bucky's face, but mine. I find my way out of the complex only I'm not outside, but in an enormous cave that's been carved out of the hillside. And just as I'm about to break free, I get shot by a squad armed with tranquilizer guns."

"Harsh. What d'you think it means?"

Chuckling without humor, Steve set the glass on the table. "That I wish it had been _me_ instead of Bucky who'd fallen from the train."

"After all this time, you still feel responsible. But, Steve, you can't change the past. All you can do is make the best of the present, and hope for a better future."

He turned to look at Maria, to see if she was pulling his leg, finding her expression completely serious. "You're right."

"I'm always right." She pressed her palm against his cheek and kissed him, slow and sweet. "Let's go back to bed. I have an early meeting with Coulson, and you have recruits to torture."

As Maria got to her feet, Steve let his eyes skim down her side, smiling when her bare and lightly tanned thigh came into view. She climbed in the bed, and moved to the wall so he could be near the edge. There was some jockeying around until they both found a position they were comfortable with. He adjusted his position just a little, and there was a thump, followed by an annoyed, "Oh crap! You need a bigger bed, Rogers. I'll talk to Coulson."

"You really think he'll sign off?"

"After giving him the signed vintage Cap cards for his birthday, you could ask for the heart of a dying sun, and he'd find a way to get it for you."

His hand found hers, weaving their fingers together. "Don't want to trade on our friendship, Maria. I'm no different than any other member of SHIELD."

"Of course you are. You're the director's favorite." Her voice got sleepy and warm as she snuggled close. "Go to sleep, Rogers. Maria will take good care of you."

Holding her tight, Steve closed his eyes. "Mmm. I know you will."

They slept apart the next two nights because Steve and another trainer had taken some of the recruits on a campout to the woods.

The following night, Maria was waiting for him in his new double bed. It wasn't the king they'd shared at the brownstone, but it was better than the two of them squeezing into his twin. He moved around the room quietly, changing into his pajamas, then slipped under the covers to spoon against her back. He kissed the side of her neck below her ear, and soon, his breathing fell into the shallow inhalations of sleep.

 **Vermont**

A guttural scream ripped Natasha from a dreamless sleep. Her feet hit the floor at the sound of a crash and breaking glass. In the living room, she found the chair where she'd left James asleep overturned, and the framed painting on the wall on the floor amid shards of glass. It was broken in an off-center star pattern, as if someone had hit it with a fist. At the edge of her hearing, raspy breaths told her something was very wrong.

"James?" The harsh sounds stopped for a moment then started again. She followed them to the kitchen where she found James huddled under the counter where the recycling can usually sat. It had been thrown or kicked across the room, the contents scattered over the floor.

His eyes were wide and wild, almost feral, darting around the room, never still for more than a few seconds. In his right hand he held a wooden spoon as if it were a weapon. He was obviously having one hell of a nightmare.

Getting down on her hands and knees to make herself look as small and harmless as possible, Natasha approached James one slow inch at a time. "It's Natasha, James. Please come out. I won't hurt you."

The fear in his eyes bordered on terror. His breathing increased until he was panting, each exhale ending on a gasp as he backed himself into the corner. She sat back on her heels, and reached out with her palm up so he could see there was nothing in her hand.

He covered his face with his arms as he shrank away. "No! Please! I don't want to! Let me go!"

In this state, the physical touch of another would do more harm than good. Natasha withdrew her hand, placing it with the other on her thighs so they were visible to James. Making her voice as soft as possible, she said, "Don't what, James? Who are they? What are they making you do?"

Though her voice was soft, his body twitched as if her words were physical blows. She fell silent, ready to wait him out, all the while calling herself names for thinking she could get James over his PTSD on her own. Now the damage was done, and it was her fault.

After a while, James' breathing slowed, and his posture had relaxed somewhat. Patience is what Natasha needed now. Still keeping her voice low, she moved into a crouch. "I'll go to my room, and you come out whenever you're ready. Tomorrow, we'll call Steve and…"

Bright lightning lit up the sky, immediately followed by a loud crack of thunder the rolled and echoed through the area, shaking the cabin's walls. Rain pounded on the roof, startling him.

"NO!"

James burst out of his hiding place, and would've crashed into her if she hadn't dived to the side. He dodged side to side, swinging his arms as if fighting with multiple attackers. Diving into a shoulder roll, he disappeared behind the sofa, popping up and pointing the wooden spoon as if it were a rifle.

Natasha got to her feet, knowing all she could do at this point is try to knock him out, and deal with the situation once he'd regained consciousness. Crouching, she scanned the room, planning her strategy. But before she could put it into motion, James rolled over the sofa, dropping into a crouch behind the coffee table. He looked around, then sprang to his feet, jumping over the table, the overturned chair and sidestepping the box of wood next to the fireplace.

At the door, he again appeared to be fight with someone. Then, he yanked the door open and headed out into the rain.

Natasha ran after him, stopping at the top of the steps. "James!"

He either didn't or couldn't hear her through the sound of the rain pounding on the roof and ground, and just kept going. It was more likely that he was hallucinating being back at the HYDRA facility at the beginning, before the brainwashing had finally taken hold. There had to have been some trial and error until the correct conditioning or combination of drugs had been found. It had been the same at the Red Room, but without the drugs or cryogenics.

James disappeared into the trees, and Natasha ran back to the supply closet for night vision goggles. She returned to her room to change and put on boots. On the way to the door, slipped the goggles over her eyes. Pulling the hood up, she jumped from the porch and ran in the direction James had been moving when she last saw him.

As she reached the tree line, she activated the goggles, scanning left to right and back again, hoping to see James. No luck. In this rain, tracking him would be difficult. Picturing the area in her mind, she headed in the most logical direction: along the main path that led to the stream. During the skunk incident, she noticed how he seemed calmer, more in control near the water. Though, in his current state of mind, there was no way to know for certain that he would take the path of least resistance, but it was all she had.

~~O~~

In the past, James knew when he was dreaming, his brain tossing up random bits of memory, teasing him with what might have been. Tonight, it felt as if he were back in that dank, disgusting excuse for a lab. Men and women in white coats spoke to others in dark green uniforms.

Not much scared him. Trying to cross a metal beam suspended above a raging inferno while the building shook itself apart was one. Another was seeing that man with the red face standing over him, grinning like the devil his grandmother had warned him about if he didn't behave.

Every time he regained consciousness, he watched and waited for his captor's attention to wander so he could try to escape. And each time, he was caught and brought back. They were relentless in their attempts to brainwash him. Oh, yeah. He knew what they were up to. But he refused to give in. Once or twice, he went along with their orders, biding his time, but they weren't fooled, and soon they moved on from the mental conditioning to injecting him with drugs that set his brain and body on fire.

Then, one day, he'd had enough, and started to cry. "No! Please! I don't want to! Let me go!"

He was tired of being put in the chair and having who knew how many volts of electricity shot into his body. The only way to get it to stop was to do as they said, but his oath as a soldier wouldn't let him give up. On more than a few occasions, he'd been told that everyone he knew and cared about thought he was dead, and would continue to believe it. They would take steps to see to it he never returned home, and that he would become the Fist of HYDRA. It was never explained to him what that meant, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew what was what. These Nazi creeps wanted him to kill the ones they deemed a danger to their goal of ruling the world. And as long as he lived, Bucky would keep fighting.

He heard the scientists talking when they thought he was still unconscious, saying that Schmidt had an assignment for him. The name was unfamiliar, a political leader whose death would throw their government into turmoil, and while the country mourned, his captors would move in and take control.

Bucky had to get away _today_. Whatever they'd been doing to him had made him stronger, had given him a greatly increased stamina, and rapid healing. Hope surged. He could do this!

The next time his shackles were released, Bucky made his move. He fought his way past the men in white coats and many guards to get where he was now. The exit was in sight. All he had to do was hotwire a vehicle and head for one of the many secret ally camps hidden within Germany's borders.

He ran, he fought hand-to-hand, even shot a few of the guards, and soon, he was outside the compound. Hiding behind a stack of crates, he took out the guards patrolling this part of the grounds, stole their weapons and jumped into the driver's seat of a deuce. But before he could get it started, shots pinged off the metal body, one coming close enough to graze his arm, though he barely felt it for all the adrenaline coursing through his system.

Bucky gave up trying to start the deuce. He snatched up his weapon, slid across the bench seat and out the passenger door, zigzagging his way through the other vehicles. The compound was surrounded by forest. He dove into the trees, running for his life, occasionally turning to squeeze off a few shots to discourage his pursuers.

If he could find somewhere to hide until dark… Up ahead, he saw a cave, but that was too obvious. He kept searching, and soon, he found a spot protected by several fallen trees. Wedging himself into the small space, concealed by the roots and leaves, Bucky waited for darkness to make his escape.

A few minutes later, it began to rain.

~~O~~

Creeping through the forest, angry and annoyed with herself, and just a little scared that James would hurt himself, Natasha once again scanned the area, turning in a circle. Still nothing. She'd found a few warm bodies, but they were too small, animals who'd taken refuge from the storm. Lightning flashed across the sky, the goggles automatically adjusting to the glare so it wouldn't render her temporarily blind.

The path made a sharp turn to the left past a deep indention. It was an open area, no place to hide. Just as she reached the other side, she was tackled to the ground. The goggles flew into the darkness, but she was too busy defending herself to worry about a piece of technology that was made to withstand water and impact.

She and James rolled over and over, mud, twigs and leaves sticking to their clothing as she fought against his greater strength and body weight. Having gone up against bigger opponents, she wasn't worried that he'd get the upper hand, at least not for long. She'd fought aliens and lived to eat Shawarma afterwards.

Natasha made her move, and James went flying, sliding through the mud on his side until he hit a tree. He was on his feet so fast, she was barely able to put up a defense when he came running at her. As he came toward her, he was on a slight upgrade. She broke into a run and dropped onto her side, sliding down at a great enough speed that James had to jump to keep from being knocked off his feet.

He turned and gave chase, just as she'd planned. Dodging trees, rocks and bushes, Natasha led him in the direction of an open field that ran along the stream a few hundred yards from where they'd encountered the skunk. At the stream, she made a sharp right and picked up speed, bursting into the open. Chancing a look over her shoulder, she found that James wasn't behind her as she thought.

Slowing down, she listened as well as possible with the rain and thunder at an almost deafening roar, and heard nothing but her own harsh breathing. She looked up when lightning blazed across the sky, the thunder coming right on top of it, masking James's approach.

He got her in a choke hold, picking her up so that her legs flailed in the air. With his superior strength, he could render her unconscious or even kill her within a few seconds. But in their fight on the bridge and in the street, he hadn't seen all her moves.

Holding her legs together, she swung them back between James' knees, and up so that she flipped over his head, breaking his hold, and landing on his shoulders,. Clamping her legs together around his neck, she twisted, releasing her hold once James was off balance, sending him flying again. He landed on his back this time, and without a pause, rolled onto his shoulders, arched his back, and kicked out, coming to his feet.

But he was too late, she'd already broken into a run that took her back toward the trees. He gave chase, catching up to her quicker than she'd hoped. Natasha put on a last burst of speed, jumping up to plant a foot on the nearest tree, continuing into the flip and coming down on James' shoulders again. But he was wise to that trick. His hands grasped her thighs and pulled them apart until she was forced to release her hold or suffer a broken hip.

She let go just enough to slide down his back to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Whatever she'd planned came to naught as James reached back, grabbed her under the arms and flung her away. The impact with the ground knocked the wind out of her, and coupled with the physical exertion and the rain, she lay on the ground panting hard.

Natasha was forming a new strategy that had no hope of success when another giant bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, arcing over to strike the tree nearest her. For one of the few times in her life, she felt absolute terror as the tree was split by the lightning and started falling. She curled into a ball, as if that would save her from a sudden and quick death.

 **TBC**

The 1927 New York Yankees season was their 25th season. The team finished with a record of 110–44, winning their fifth pennant and finishing 19 games ahead of the Philadelphia Athletics and were tied for first or better for the whole season. New York was managed by Miller Huggins. The Yankees played at Yankee Stadium. In the World Series, they swept the Pittsburgh Pirates. This Yankee team is known for their feared lineup, which was nicknamed "Murderers' Row". The team is widely considered to be the best baseball team in the history of MLB.


	11. Chapter 34

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions. Both stopped me from making a huge _faux pas_ … hopefully. ;-)

 **WARNING:** This chapter may contain content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 34**

 **Stark Tower**

"He's been like that for _how_ long?" Standing outside Dooney's room, Clint watched him sleeping, Cho at his side, her fingers flying over the tablet in her hand as she made notes.

"More than twelve hours. He hadn't slept in well over twenty-four hours, claimed he wasn't tired. According to Jarvis, he fell asleep watching television." Cho turned away, leading Clint down the hallway toward the lab. He hadn't seen Banner yet today, and Cho hadn't mentioned him. "In that time, he consumed a total of five thousand two-hundred sixty-three calories, apparently, with no ill effects."

Clint waved at the window, and his friend behind it. "How can you say no ill effects if he's been sleeping for so long?"

She turned the tablet so he could see the screen, scrolling through graphs and charts that went over Clint's head, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying so.

"As you can see, his vital signs have remained within the norm for his demographic profile. We believe that his body has simply been readjusting itself as the healing process advances. That being said, if he doesn't wake up on his own in the next hour or so, we'll wake him ourselves."

Somewhat mollified, Clint nodded. "Fine. I'll head down to the lounge and have a few words with Stark while we wait it out."

"Good." Cho's voice had that distracted tone people with an inflated intellect used around someone they considered beneath them. Not as annoyed as he should be, Clint headed for the lifts.

One arrived just as he reached it, and Banner came out, a pen clamped in his teeth and his head down over a tablet, almost colliding with Clint. "Oh, sorry, Barton. Have you seen Dr. Cho?"

Clint aimed a thumb over his shoulder. "In your office."

"Thanks."

He watched Banner cross the lab without running into anything, as if by instinct. "Scientists are _weird_."

Inside the lift, he pressed the button for the lounge, and the door closed. Clint wanted to talk to Stark about having SI make some of his specialized arrow tips. They talked over a couple of glasses of iced tea, Stark eventually agreeing. Clint promised to get him the specs the next day, and those for tips he couldn't make on his own or wanted Stark's opinion on. Then, he returned to the lab to check on Dooney.

Clint went in search of Cho and Banner; he wanted to be the one to wake his friend. He found the lab empty except for a holographic display of a baseball stadium floating in the air. Circling around to the other side, he headed for Banner's office. As he got close, he heard voices murmuring, unable to make out the words. "Doc?"

He turned the corner, expecting to see Banner video chatting with some egghead on the other side of the world. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Banner and Cho locked in a passionate kiss, making out like there was no tomorrow. They pulled apart when he exclaimed, "Sonofa****! First Hill and Rogers, now you two. I'm gonna have nightmares for the rest of my freakin' _life!_ "

Banner straightened his clothes and pushed a hand through his hair, leaving Cho to sort herself out alone. "Something I can do for you, Agent Barton?"

"Time to wake Dooney up."

To Clint's surprise, Banner grinned. "He's awake, showered, dressed, and is out on the balcony at this moment enjoying the sights and smells of Manhattan at sunset." The smile wiped away. "He's completely healthy, no trace of the leukemia, yet he seems less excited about it than we would expect."

"I'll talk to him." Clint started away, turned back. "I can't thank you and Cho enough, doc." In a wise move, he didn't mention catching the two scientists in a compromising situation. The men shook hands, and Clint jogged up three floors to the balcony access. Through the floor to ceiling windows, he saw his friend leaning on the railing, rubbing his hands together, the set of his shoulders showing discouragement. He opened the door and moved to Dooney's side.

~~O~~

Inside his head, Dooney's emotions battled for supremacy. On the one hand, he was elated to find that he'd been cured and would live a much longer life than he thought the day he tried to end it. On the other hand, what he read about his father made him morose. Since the day he ran out on his mother and him, Dooney had tried not to hate the man, and succeeded for the most part. At least until he met his half-sister, Laura. How she could not hold a grudge against the man that had abandoned her as well, Dooney had never been able to figure out.

Then he had to go and ask Jarvis to hunt down the man he'd known as Theodore Ross only to find that he wasn't who he thought he was. Apparently, he'd changed his name several times. When he met Laura's mother, he'd given his name as Jonathan Girard. And that wasn't even the worst. Dooney needed time to process everything. Time he now had thanks to…

"Banner says you'll be ready to check out soon."

Dooney turned to Clint then looked back at the view. "A few more tests. If all's good, I can go home in a day or two." His stomach growled and he was thirsty. It was time to go in, but he didn't feel like being back in that room again. "I had Jarvis hunt down mine and Laura's dad."

"And?"

"The details are on the computer in my room, but suffice it to say, everything we thought we knew about him is wrong." Clint started walking, and Dooney fell into step with him. "Laura needs to know, and I should be the one to tell her."

Clint led him to the lifts. They got on and got out again on a floor Dooney hadn't been to before. The huge room was multi-level with an indoor balcony, bar, buffet tables, and a sunken pit with elegant leather and chrome furniture arranged in a circle. "Have a seat. I'll get us food and drinks, and you can give me the 4-1-1."

Dooney sat down on one of the long, white sofas, picturing what it must be like to attend a party in a place like this. He'd hosted his share of soirées, but nothing on this scale. Not for the first time, he wondered how a boy who grew up in the circus ended up friends and teammates with a billionaire, a demi-god, a super-soldier, and a scientist who occasionally transformed into a hulking green monster.

Natasha wasn't that much of a surprise. The first time Clint brought the spy to the farm, Dooney had known there was a special bond between them. Laura and Cooper had taken to her immediately, and when Lila was born, Natasha was able to tap into the maternal side of her personality.

When they were introduced, he made the mistake of assuming she was just another pretty face. And that had been the start of their love-loathe relationship. Hence, the friendly banter that occasionally crossed into cutting remarks. None of it was taken seriously on either side. And if Dooney were forced to tell the truth under oath, he'd say they cared about each other as more than friends, though less than lovers.

His thoughts were interrupted by Clint handing him a plate and a glass of tea. He went away and returned with the same for himself. "Let's hear it, Doon. The Tale of the Deadbeat Dad."

He speared some of the baby greens and chicken with his fork, shoved it in his mouth and chewed while working out the best way to convey the information Jarvis had given him. "To start with, he's not from Flagstaff. He's not even from the US…"

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Half asleep, Steve slapped the table until he located it. Cracking one eye, he hit accept. "Rogers."

There was a long pause then a male voice spoke with sigh, " _I must have the wrong number_."

Steve sat up, realizing he'd answered Maria's phone. "Not necessarily. Who are you looking for?"

A shorter pause this time. " _Maria Hill_."

"This is her number. May I help you?"

The voice hardened, became demanding. " _Start with who are you, and why are you answering my daughter's phone?_ "

Fully awake now, Steve swung his feet over the side of the bed. "Steve Rogers, Mr. Hill. And I'm Maria's, um…"

" _You're the man who's sleeping with my daughter. No need to prevaricate, son. Maria's not a saint_." Chuckles turned into wracking coughs. " _But then, neither am I._ "

There was nothing Steve could say to that, so he ignored it. The shower shut off telling him Maria would be out soon. "I'll get her for you, sir." He went to the bathroom and knocked.

She opened the door, one towel around her body and another rubbing her head. "Yeah?"

He held up the phone. "Answered it by mistake. Sorry."

The towel thumped on the counter as she took the phone. "Who is it?"

"Your father." Her expression hardened into an unreadable mask as she pointedly pressed the end key then turned the phone off. She stepped past him, going to the closet to rummage for clothes. He turned to face her, and was presented with her back. "Why'd you hang up on him?"

"None of your business, Steve. Let it _go._ " Again, Maria pushed by him to the bathroom.

She tried to close the door, and he stopped it with his hand. "You should at least hear what he has to say."

Her light blue eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds. Not a good sign. "Move it or lose it, Rogers."

The tone of Maria's voice was such that Steve immediately obeyed. The door slammed, and he knew she'd likely not speak to him for the rest of the day. He powered up his phone and added Robert Hill to his contact list. Maybe what father and daughter needed was a liaison, someone to run interference, to be a buffer between them. If he could at least get them in the same room, maybe they'd have a conversation that lasted more than a few seconds. And if, as he suspected, the man was ill, he didn't want Maria spending the rest of her life feeling guilty for not mending a fence that had been broken long ago.

 **Vermont**

Hot on the heels of the lone operative who'd followed him into the forest, Bucky skidded to a stop when lightning hit the tree. The operative, what his captors called the guards, lay cowering on the ground as the tree spilt down the middle. She covered her head as if that would save her.

 _She?_

The scene around him wavered, and suddenly, he was no longer in the forest surrounding the compound from which he'd repeatedly tried to escape after his fall from the train. He was back in Vermont near the cabin he shared with Natasha. Fear whispered through him, similar, yet different from what he'd felt when he discovered what his captors wanted him to do, their purpose for the experiments from which Steve had rescued him.

She lay on the ground where the tree would fall. She was trying to get to her feet, but he didn't see any way she'd be able to get away in time. She would be killed, and he couldn't let that happen.

"Natasha!" Breaking into a run, he reached her side with seconds to spare, falling to his knees and raising his left arm above his head. He deflected the tree just enough to save her, but not enough to save himself. A branch slapped against his chest, knocking him to the ground in the mud on a steep downgrade. Water flowed toward the stream, getting in his mouth and eyes, and up his nose. He tried to pull his left arm free where it had been trapped by the tree, but couldn't move.

"James!"

Natasha fell to her knees next to him, digging in the mud and grass around his arm until he was able to work it free. He used his metal arm to break the branch across his chest, and Natasha helped him stand. They looked at each other, panting hard. Before either could speak, a cracking sound filled the air. James searched, and found that the other half of the tree was losing its battle with the wind and rain as it slowly toppled toward them.

James grabbed Natasha around the waist at the same time she clenched her hands in the material of his shirt and threw herself and him away from danger. As a result, they ended up on the ground, rolling over and over. When they were far enough away, he rolled them one more time until Natasha was under him, ducked his head and brought his metal arm up to protect them both. Thankfully, all that hit them this time was rain.

He stood, bringing Natasha to her feet as well. To reset his arm, he stepped back and swung the shoulder joint in a circle. Then, he immediately picked Natasha up and turned toward the cabin, walking as quickly as he could in the muddy field.

Natasha put her arms around his neck and pulled herself close to his ear to be heard over the storm. "I can walk, you know."

"It's my fault you almost died."

She shook her head, leaving locks of hair stuck to her cheeks and neck. "Let's talk about it later. When we get inside…"

" _You_ will take a long hot shower, or bath if you prefer, while _I_ make tea and warm the soup."

Chuckling, she hugged his neck tighter. "That's _my_ line, Barnes."

He walked a few more steps, finally seeing the humor in their situation. "Now it's mine."

As they crossed the open field around the cabin, the rain finally stopped, yet James still refused to put her down until they reached the cabin. Looking back, she saw bloody footprints. He opened the door, and Natasha put a hand on his arm. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

He lifted his feet one at a time. On the right foot was a deep cut, blood mixing with the mud. "Didn't feel it."

Taking his hand, Natasha led him to a chair. He sat down while she went inside, coming out with a towel. She used it to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. When that was done, she sent him in to shower and change. While he was doing that, she changed out of the wet clothes and into pajamas, pulling on a pair of warm socks to cover her feet. The rain had rinsed most of the mud from her hair, but it still needed washing, as did the rest of her.

She started the water for tea and put the soup on simmer. James came out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and looking like he hadn't combed it in weeks.

Natasha had him sit at the table while she gathered what she needed to clean and dress the wound. She dragged a stool over, covered her lap with a towel, and opened the peroxide. James held his foot over the basin as she poured the peroxide over the wound to flush out any bits of crap that had gotten stuck. Then, he laid the foot on her lap, watching her movements, occasionally glancing at her face. Her expression was all concentration on her task. He hissed in pain when she applied the antibiotic cream and covered it with a waterproof bandage, though the pain was manageable.

About this time, the tea kettle whistled. "I'll get that. You can eat while I shower."

James cleared his throat, preparing to speak, and Natasha turned her back on him, putting a stop to any protest. She poured the tea and set the cup in front of him, and went to the stove for the soup. Setting the bowl and a box of crackers within easy reach, she left him to take her own shower.

When Natasha returned to the kitchen feeling clean and warm at last, she found that James had started a fire, poured another cup of tea, and had a bowl ready for her. He hadn't eaten yet, obviously waiting for her. She thanked him with a smile and picked up her spoon. He did the same, and they sat there eating soup, drinking hot tea with honey and lemon, and enjoying the companionable silence of the evening, glad to be alive.

~~O~~

When they finished eating, James limped into the other room and took a seat on the sofa, propping his foot on the table, listening to Natasha moving around the kitchen. He should've helped with the cleaning up, but she insisted he leave it to her.

A few minutes later, Natasha brought out a tray with two cups. Whatever it was had a different scent than the tea, and something white floating on top. She handed him a cup with a spoon, and took the other for herself as she sat on the opposite end of the sofa, facing him with her knees up.

"What is it?"

"Hot chocolate with whipped cream."

Though skeptical, James gave the drink a stir and took a sip. The flavor was sweeter than he was used to. It also stirred a memory, a good one this time. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, willing the memory to surface. In his mind, he saw a family, mother, father, two girls and two boys, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. They were all in flannel pajamas, sipping hot chocolate and listening to the radio.

James finished the drink, and put the cup on the tray. Sensing that he was being watched, he looked over at Natasha. She held his gaze a moment then looked away. Putting her cup down, she went into the bathroom and came out again. "Hold still."

He had no idea what she planned until he felt her touching his hair, and drawing a comb through it. "You called me Natasha." Not sure why she stated the obvious, he said nothing. "That was the first time you've ever used my name."

Until now, James hadn't thought about it. Looking back over their time together, he realized she was right. The only times he referred to another by name had been Norman, Lucy, Dugan, Robbie and Tracie. "Should I not?"

"Yes, of course. It's also a breakthrough. You're starting to see yourself, and others, as an individuals. You're becoming James Buchanan Barnes again. Another thing that will help is speaking English exclusively. No more Russian."

Not having realized he wasn't speaking English, James had nothing to say to that. She laid the comb on the end table, picked up the tray, and carried it to the kitchen. Moments later, her footsteps, muffled by the socks on her feet, stopped behind him. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning. We'll talk about what happened after we eat."

He nodded, reluctantly. "Good night… Natasha."

Her delighted smile almost made up for the pain he'd caused her today. Almost.

Her bedroom door closed and James was left alone with only his thoughts for company. He moved his feet from the table to the sofa, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Natasha had given him much to think about. Something he read one of the times Natasha had left the computer on indicated that she thought he had something called post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD. It was related to a condition he'd seen when he first joined the Army. Then, it was called battle fatigue or shell shock, and was caused by the trauma of war.

However, PTSD wasn't only caused by war. Any traumatic event could trigger it. Not everyone who experienced trauma developed PTSD. And there were many ways to treat it. There were medications he could take, none of which could be purchased at the store where they shopped according to his research. They had to be prescribed by a doctor. From what he'd observed and surmised, Natasha would have access to them without having to go through a doctor, but he couldn't ask her to do that. It wouldn't be right, morally or ethically. It may be that the only way he could truly get help was to have Natasha take him to Steve.

His eyes became heavy, but James didn't want to sleep, afraid that the same dream would come again, and the events of tonight would happen once more. What he needed was a way to keep Natasha safe from him. His training as the Asset gave him the tools he needed to devise a way to make it a reality. Closing his eyes, James put his mind to work on the problem.

~~O~~

James awoke to the smell of coffee, and the sound of Natasha moving around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He'd fallen asleep, and hadn't realized it. Looking inward, he also noted that his sleep had been dreamless. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, and found that he'd been covered with a blanket. Putting his feet on the floor, he stood, easing weight onto the injured foot. There was a small twinge of pain that was easy to ignore.

He went to the bathroom, then to his room to get dressed before returning to the other room. Natasha was attempting to fold the blanket, invoking a memory he assumed was from his childhood of holding one end of a sheet or blanket while a woman he assumed was his mother held the other, and together, they would fold it.

Natasha looked up when he grasped the edge of the blanket and stepped back until it was fully extended. They folded it in half, then in half again. He picked up the trailing edge, and that brought them to within a few inches of each other. And once again, she looked up at him with an odd expression. When the blanket was folded, she carried it into his room, and came right out again, walking past him to the kitchen without as much as a glance. He followed, took out two cups, and poured the coffee. Placing one near her left hand, James returned to the other room, wondering if he'd done something wrong again.

A few minutes later, Natasha handed him a plate and silverware, went back to the kitchen and returned with a plate and her coffee. She sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the sofa, and there it was again, that unblinking stare. He mirrored her position, keeping one foot on the floor. "You wanted to know what happened yesterday. I…"

" _English_ ," she reminded him.

Again, he hadn't realized he was speaking Russian. He switched to English. "I dreamt about being a prisoner, and trying to escape…"

 **Dooney's Apartment**

 **Lower Manhattan**

 **A Few Days Later**

Dooney let himself into the apartment, tossed his keys on the end table and his bag on the sofa, and then flopped down next to it. Never had he been so glad to be home, though returning from the two weeks he'd spent in Kabul came in a close second. He looked around, noting that the place had been recently cleaned. Everything was in place and dust free. Probably had Clint to thank for it. The fact that his apartment felt empty for the first time since he moved in, well, that was on him. Kiba had only been at the apartment with him a week. How had it happened that it now seemed like she'd always been here?

His few minutes of self-indulgence over, Dooney carried his bag to the bedroom, threw the dirty clothes in the hamper, and hung the bag on a hook in the walk-in closet. The corner of an envelope stuck out. He tried to be angry with Clint for reminding him that he hadn't yet read his mother's last words, but he wasn't.

He carried the envelope with him to the computer room, and while the system booted up, he tore the flap and took out the single page. His mother's handwriting was neat and easy to read. But then, so was his, because she'd insisted on it. Said no one would take him seriously in whatever business he went into if they couldn't read his writing. And he had to admit she was right.

The date at the top of the page was just a week before she passed away, and said the usual things. Find love, be happy, enjoy your work, live a good life. With Stella Nelson, what sounded like a request for a favor was, in reality, an order, and the best course of action was always to agree and avoid the consequences, because with his mother, even demons would run for cover when they saw her coming.

The computer came up showing that he had several hundred emails. Dooney triaged the Inbox, sending almost half to the trash. The rest were sent to folders arranged in order of priority. He handled the super-urgent emails immediately, and left the rest for later. What he really wanted to do was call his sister and tell her about their father. However, that sort of information was better given in person.

His business no longer held the same appeal it had before his illness, so he accessed IM and sent a request to one of his most trusted contacts asking if he'd like to buy him out. Within an hour, they'd settled on a price, and Dooney assured him he would have all the necessary papers drawn up by his attorney within twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, his contact would transfer the funds into Dooney's offshore account and it would be a done deal by the end of the week.

Now all he had to do was pack up his s*** and arrange for the sale of the apartment. He also decided to sell Little B*****, and keep Stella. Where he was going, the Hummer was the better choice for transportation. With a few keystrokes, Dooney sent inquiries out into cyberspace, and it wasn't long before he had many lucrative offers.

Happier than he'd been in months, Dooney did some Internet surfing for a few numbers, kicked back with his feet on the corner of the desk, and dialed. He took his southern accent up a notch, knowing it would open lots of doors in the north. "Afternoon, ma'am. My name's Duane Nelson and I'm considerin' movin' your fair city… Yes, ma'am… Business or pleasure? A little of both, actually. I'm thinkin' of opening a small café, nothin' too fancy, you understand… I'll need a house as well… At least four bedrooms, big back yard… Yes, ma'am. I'm plannin' on a _large_ family… What say you round up a few listings and send the particulars to my email, and once I've looked 'em over, we'll make plans for me to tour the properties… In person, ma'am. Best way to do it."

Dooney gave his email address, the one he used for non-business related issues, and hung up. With a sly grin, he laced his fingers behind his head, and sighed. A new adventure was on the horizon, and he was going after it.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

Stuck inside because of hurricane Kevin hitting the coast of Virginia, Steve reflected on the fact that he was right about getting the silent treatment from Maria, but grossly underestimated how long it would last. It was now into the third day, with no end in sight. They hadn't set eyes on each other in all that time. An apology from him would probably resolve the issue. However, he'd done nothing wrong except answer her phone by mistake, and encourage her to speak to her father.

She couldn't possibly be as cold toward the man as she pretended to be, and there was evidence to support his theory. Robert Hill's number was in her contact list though she'd changed phones and numbers at least four times in the last year alone. Twice since the HYDRA incident. Add that to the fact that her father had her current number, and Steve came up with an answer that Maria would deny. He was no psychologist, but all the evidence supported the hypothesis that even though she said they'd only spoken once in the last fifteen years and refused his calls now, she was still seeking her father's approval.

At the moment, Steve was out of ideas for getting Maria and her father to speak to one another. If he tried to force the issue, there was a slim chance that she might end their personal relationship, and he didn't want to risk it. Not yet.

On the other hand, there was the tiniest part of Steve that wondered if she _wanted_ him to persuade her to make contact. He could ask Natasha, _if_ she would answer the phone; texting was too cumbersome for the questions he needed to ask.

He _had_ to convince Maria to speak to her father. The sooner, the better. But first, she had to be speaking to _him_. Steve sent her a text asking to see her. She took so long to answer, he thought she was going to ignore him. Finally, a response came, along with frustration, and a little relief. Maria wasn't at the facility. She had been at SHIELD's secret headquarters with Coulson the last few days. It explained why he hadn't seen her in the hall or the cafeteria. His phone beeped again, and when he read the text, relief tickled his stomach.

 _Sorry I was an ass about Dad._

Alone in his room, Steve laughed out loud as he tapped out a reply. _You're forgiven. When will you be back?_

 _Wheels down in fifteen. Meet me._

 _On my way._

The phone went into his back pocket as he checked his look in the mirror. He'd been headed to the gym and was in his workout clothes. They would have to do.

As Steve neared the exit to the quinjet landing pad, he grabbed one of the umbrellas from the stand by the door. He watched the sky and soon, the quinjet came into sight. It landed, and he stepped out into the rain, the umbrella popping open with a snap.

The hatch opened, and Maria came out to meet him, a duffle bag over one shoulder. She saw him and smiled, coming to stand with him under the umbrella. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he leaned down to kiss her. They pulled apart when a gust of wind blew cold rain at them.

Holding the umbrella over Maria, Steve opened the door and followed her in. He shook the water off the umbrella and returned it to the stand. Maria took his hand and led the way to his room. As soon as the door closed, she was all over him. An hour later, they lay side by side in the bed, holding hands.

"What was the meeting about? Or is it need-to-know?" Maria released his hand and rolled onto her side. Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"He thinks it's time for the Avengers to know he's alive. You'll want to prepare for the inevitable questions when they find out you've known for a while and didn't say anything."

He pulled Maria over on top of him so they were face to face, and he could feel her skin against his. "I'm their leader. I'm _supposed_ to know things they don't."

"That won't stop them from being pissed."

"Except for Sam and Rhodey. They didn't know Coulson." His hands came to rest on her back. "I've been hearing rumors…"

Maria huffed as she slid off of him and rolled onto her back. "About Inhumans being required to register with the government? I heard that one too. You're against it, I assume."

"Forget about it for now. Let's talk about something else." Steve turned over, one knee dropping between her thighs as he hugged her close, and kissed her. Maria's arms slithered around his neck to play with the hair at his nape. Then, he made his move, and she gasped, over and over.

Sometime later, Maria lay beside him, panting. Her eyes were closed and one hand gripped a handful of hair. "Oh, my _gawd!_ Give me the web address of the site where you got that. Gonna send them a thank you note."

She couldn't see the smirk so he let it show in his voice. "Didn't Google it."

"No?"

Steve turned Maria onto her side, spooning her from behind, and kissing her on the neck. "Made that one up myself."

"Mmm. Pretty slick for a ninety-six year old."

He smiled against her neck. "I have my moments."

 **Dooney's Apartment**

Dooney made one last sweep for any personal items he might've left behind. The new owners would be taking possession of the fully furnished apartment in a few days. He gathered up the last of the boxes, set them on the cart and wheeled it out the front door to the freight elevator.

He left the keys and parking garage key card with the super, shoved the boxes in the back of the Hummer, and got behind the wheel. It took him about forty minutes to make it out of the city to I-80 headed west. He could drive straight through, but that would take twenty-one hours, and he wasn't up for spending that much time sitting in the Hummer. Instead, he would drive until sundown then find a place to stay as many times as necessary to reach his destination.

 **Sioux Falls**

 **Two Weeks Later**

After a quick meeting with the contractor working on the café and his new partner, Camilla Barlow, owner of the Java Hut next door to the defunct Rose Avenue Diner, now called Nelson's Nook and Nosh, Dooney drove to the sheriff's office. He checked his look in the visor mirror before heading inside.

The desk sergeant was busily typing at the computer and didn't look up until Dooney cleared his throat. "Help you, sir?"

Dooney laid on the southern accent, thick and sticky as molasses. "You most certainly can. I've just moved to your fine city, and I'd like to report a theft."

The young man, his name tag said Broderick, snapped his gum, looking Dooney up and down like something that had crawled out of a gutter. Still, he pulled a pad toward him, picked up a pen and prepared to take his statement. "What was stolen?"

Laying a hand over the left side of his chest, Dooney gave Broderick one of his most charming smiles. "My heart."

 **TBC**


	12. Chapter 35

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

 **WARNING:** This chapter may contain content that is corny.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 35**

Broderick was on the desk, a job he loathed, and didn't care if anyone knew. He snapped and popped his gum to purposely annoy his co-workers, but they were all wise to his ploy and said nothing. The front door opened as someone came in, and around the wad in his mouth, Broderick asked, "Help you, sir?"

Sitting across from Davenport with her back to the door, Kiba typed up the reports for the previous day. She thought nothing of the door opening until she heard a familiar voice, the southern accent coming across loud and clear.

"You most certainly can. My name is Duane Nelson, Dooney to my friends. I'm new to your fine city, and I'd like to report a theft."

"What was stolen?"

In the reflection of her computer monitor, Kiba saw Dooney laid a hand over his chest and grin. "My heart."

Broderick snickered. "Describe the, uh, suspect."

Dooney held his hand just above his shoulders. "'Bout so high, light brown hair, the most beautiful green eyes you ever saw, and a smile that could turn a gay man straight."

Kiba could see Dooney watching for her reaction, and she carefully kept her face averted though her eyes were still on the reflection.

Again, Broderick made that annoying snap-pop with his gum. "Does this paragon have a name?"

"Kiba Sparks, though she was going by Hardison when _I_ knew her."

"I'll assign one of our deputies to examine the crime scene."

Dooney's expression turned glum. "Problem with that is the 'crime scene' is in New York, but she lives here. I'll tell you this, my friend, if she confesses, I'll consider droppin' the charges."

Pushing back from her desk, Kiba took a breath, and calmly walked to the swinging door between the bullpen and the front waiting area. Dooney turned to face her, and just for a moment, she hesitated. Every eye was on them. "I'll finish taking his statement, Broderick."

She opened the front door and stepped out onto the small patio that curved around to the left. Dooney followed, the two of them standing and staring at each other, Kiba with a rueful smile. "You look good."

"I _feel_ fantastic. Better than I have in years." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "When I got home from the treatment center, nothing felt right. The apartment was empty, and my business no longer gave me a sense of accomplishment. And I realized that my life was lacking that one element that would make everything… right again."

"And that is?"

His hands came out of his pockets and he closed the gap between them. " _You_ , Kiba. _You're_ the missing piece."

~~O~~

Jody Mills came out of her office when the bullpen got quiet. Silence was golden, unless you were in charge of a bunch of rowdy deputies. Then silence was very, very suspicious.

The entire staff, except for Sparks had crowded at the front window, way too interested in something that probably was none of their business. "What's going on?"

Davenport shushed then waved her over. Jody looked out the window to see Sparks laying a lip lock on a tall, blonde man. Scowling outwardly and smiling internally, Jody closed the blinds, earning her groans of annoyance from her team. She wedged herself between them and the window. "Nothing to see here. Go on about your business. That's an order, by the way."

Grumbling, everyone went back to work, and a short time later, Sparks came inside, smiling, with just a trace of a blush on her cheeks. She returned to her desk, sat down and went back to work as if nothing had happened. Jody was tempted to give her the rest of the day off, but those reports wouldn't write themselves.

Slapping a cap on her head, Jody left the office, got in her cruiser and headed toward the south end of town. The owner of one of the farms had reported that some of his cattle had been killed. It wasn't so much that they'd died as the manner of their death. Jody hoped this wasn't what it sounded like, or she'd be seeing the Supernatural boys again soon. They were great guys, fun to be around during downtime. But they always brought with them a sense of doom, that if things didn't go just right, the world as they knew it would end. And Jody wasn't up to that today. Any day, really. However, today was the anniversary of the day she lost her son and husband. And she just needed to be alone for a while. The long drive out to the Calloway place would help.

 **Vermont**

 **Several Weeks Later**

Once again, Natasha and James fell into a routine, and though he may not have realized it, very slowly, Natasha was doing less and less of the cooking, cleaning and making decisions.

If he waited for her to lead, more than half the time she would wait to see what _he_ would do then go along with it. On some occasions, Natasha would tell him to decide then change her mind about participating so that he would be on his own. Sometimes, he would even make suggestions for their meals or activity for the day without her asking.

He still had nightmares, but none on the order of the night the tree almost fell on them. One night, she was awakened by another dream about the Red Room. James knocked on the door to ask if she was okay. His tone said he was unsure if he should try to comfort her or let her work it out on her own. For a millisecond, she thought about asking him to stay with her. Not in her bed, but in the room. Instead, she was content with knowing he was nearby, and she wasn't alone in her misery as she'd been as a child.

Sentiment and coddling hadn't been a part of the curriculum. No bedtime stories, no cuddling in front of the fire on a cold morning, no teddy bear tucked into bed with you at night as a deterrent to monsters that lurked under the bed or in your closet, and no kiss good night. From the beginning, the girls were taught that love was for others, those who were like children compared to what they would become. It had been told to them on a daily basis, until they began to believe it. For her, the change in her perceptions came about the day she met a sandy-haired American with blue eyes and a cocky grin whose weapon of choice was a bow and arrow.

Natasha had brought James here so that he would know he wasn't alone, that someone cared about him and could commiserate with him when he was feeling as if the world had left him behind. And in many ways, it had.

Each night, she played a few songs from before WWII, while avoiding a situation where he might ask her to dance again. She shouldn't have agreed to the dance in the first place, but had been pleased he remembered the songs, and didn't want to do anything that would send those memories back into hiding.

After the storm and his flashback, Natasha was certain they'd end up back at square one. There had been some backsliding, though not enough to worry about.

Once again, to keep James out of the way while she did research, Natasha sent him for firewood. He had to know it was a ploy, but said nothing. Anything she asked him to do, he did, without question.

James was also speaking up more often. Beginning conversations instead of waiting for her to start them. And she didn't have to remind him to speak English as often. A few times, there had been a glint in his eye that could've been humor, as if he were speaking Russian just to tease her.

It had been his idea to share stories from their childhood. When he reached a roadblock in his memory, he would apologize. Many times, Natasha told him not to feel sorry for something he couldn't control. If his life had gone another way, he would still be Bucky, and an old man. She smiled at the vision of a ninety-something Bucky Barnes flirting with women young enough to be his great-granddaughter, playing poker with his friends, listening to jazz, watching baseball on the tube, and doting on his family.

"Why are you smiling?"

His question came out of the blue, turning her smile somber. "Just wondering what you would be like if HYDRA hadn't happened."

"And?"

She turned more toward him, her arm resting on the back of the sofa, propping her head up. "Going by what Steve's told me, much like you were before joining the Army."

James got up and walked to the window, looking out at the moon shining on the landscape. And sometimes, she wondered what was going through his mind when he stared out the window or into the fire for long periods of time.

He stood there for so long, Natasha thought she'd upset him. Then, he began to speak, his voice low at first, barely audible, gaining strength without emotion.

"We were staying the night in Leipzig before heading out on the mission to capture Zola. Our contact would meet us with the most current information in the morning, and we'd alter our plans accordingly." He made a derisive snort. "Zola's loyalties were fluid, and Colonel Phillips reasoned that once captured, he would change sides to save himself.

"We planned to eat, have a few drinks, and go to bed early. Then, I saw Isolde come out of the kitchen. Long black hair, big blue eyes, sweet smile. I had to meet her, just talk to her for a few minutes. Instead, she invited me to her room…"

Natasha filled in the details with what she already knew from history and Steve's personal accounts. Getting to her feet, she went to his side, touching him on the arm. He glanced at her, barely a second and back out the window, finally speaking what was on his mind. "Natasha, how am I supposed to live in a world where so many people are looking for a magical solution to their problems, yet they refuse to believe in magic?"

"Same way everyone else does, James. One day at a time." Silently urging him to uncross his arms, Natasha gave in to an impulse to hold his hand, to let him know one more time that he wasn't alone.

~~O~~

James looked down at her small hand wrapped around his and slowly enfolded his fingers over hers, noting the sharp contrast between flesh and blood, and metal. She could've taken his right hand and not worried that he might hurt her by accident. But by taking the left hand, she was giving him a measure of trust.

His glance moved to her left shoulder where he could see a round bit of puckered skin peeking out from under the edge of her top. Something, he didn't know what, made him reach out with his free hand to rub the spot with his thumb. "Is this where I shot you?"

One side of her mouth turned up. "The second time, yes." Natasha pulled the edge of her pajama pants down to show another similar scar on her abdomen. "That's the first one."

He started to touch that one as well, drawing back at the last moment, curling his fingers into his palm. When his eyes met hers, she still wore that half smile, as if she found him amusing.

"I'm sorry."

Natasha breathed in and out. She let go of the elastic and the scar disappeared, but that didn't change the fact of its existence, or that he'd been the one to inflict the injury. James released her and stepped back, mostly because being this close to her did things to him that he wasn't ready for, that he might never be ready for. If he learned nothing else since that day at the river, it was that some things were out of reach for him. He was damaged in ways that most people would never understand, and having a life with another just wasn't going to happen for him. Natasha came closest to understanding his pain as no one else ever would. Not even Steve.

And what _about_ Steve? It was the winter of 1945 that James had reportedly died, and now the year was 2014. Steve should be an old man, yet he looked the same as when he'd last seen him.

While he'd been thinking, Natasha had moved back to the sofa. James needed to know, and she could tell him. "Natasha?" He walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. "Tell me about Steve. What happened after…"

She nodded, and James sat in the armchair a few feet away. "Using information they obtained on that raid, the Howling Commandoes located the last HYDRA stronghold. Steve led the attack to stop Schmidt from using weapons of mass destruction on major US cities. He climbed aboard Schmidt's plane as it was taking off. They fought, and Schmidt is presumed killed. The plane was damaged by a weapon called the Tesseract. To prevent the deaths of millions, Steve crashed the plane into the North Atlantic, far from any inhabited areas.

"The plane was located almost seventy years later, and Steve was revived. He joined SHIELD, even helped repel the alien invasion I told you about."

James took in everything Natasha said, knowing she would not purposely lie to him. There was something about the time before they started the raids that nagged at him. The vision of a beautiful dark haired woman in a red dress who only had eyes for Steve. "There was a woman…"

"Peggy Carter. She's one of the founders of SHIELD, with Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark."

That last name was familiar, but James couldn't bring the memory into focus. An ache started around his left eye, and he rubbed it with the fingers of his right hand, drawing Natasha's attention.

"Headache?"

He nodded wearily. "When I try to remember."

Natasha stood, holding out her hand. James looked at it stupidly, then allowed her to lead him to the sofa. She directed him to lie down while she went into the kitchen. The light made the pain worse so he closed his eyes and tried to just breathe.

A short time later, he heard Natasha return. She shut off the lights, all but one, and placed something cold on his forehead, and grasped his wrist, urging him to hold it in place. The ache started to subside.

She left again and came back, the scent that swirled around her was unfamiliar. "Sit up, _malenkii_."

The ice pack was removed and set it aside. She pressed a warm mug into his hands. "Drink this. Cinnamon, warm milk and honey. It will help the headache."

James sipped the drink, finding it just a little sweet with a slightly pungent taste. Natasha watched him until he'd drunk every drop then took the mug and placed it on the table. She got up and went around to the back of the sofa. He nearly lashed out when she touched him through his shirt, squeezing the muscles of his shoulders and neck in a rhythmic pattern. And when she spoke, her voice was soft and soothing. "Relax, _malenkii_. Close your eyes, let your mind go blank. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. In… and out. In… and out."

Natasha urged him to lie down with his head on a pillow, and to apply the ice pack once more. Then she moved around to the end of the sofa, and began to massage his temples, all the while murmuring softly. And soon, James was asleep.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

It had been over a month since Maria had mentioned her father, and Steve wondered how many times she'd hung up or deleted his texts without responding. Checking her phone would be an invasion of her privacy, a breach of her trust. However, if Steve called Robert Hill himself, and the subject just happened to come up…

But would Maria view it as interfering, or be appreciative of his efforts? Steve had little experience with prying into other people's lives in order to help achieve a goal that they were unwilling or unable to accomplish on their own. What Steve needed was advice, and who better to get it from than an expert meddler?

For privacy, Steve went for a long run. When he was far enough from the main base that he wouldn't be overheard, he took out his phone, scrolled his contact list and dialed. It was answered on the second ring. "It's Rogers… I need your advice… _Hilarious_ , and no, I don't need help with dating. That's not why I'm calling… Because you're an expert at sticking your nose where it doesn't belong…" Steve chuckled. "Only _you_ would take that as a compliment… Right. Are you going to help me or not?" The voice on the other end moaned and groaned then finally gave in. "I can come to you. Where are… Okay… Start where? Got it… At the training camp outside D.C. tomorrow? See you then."

Steve hung up, and though it was for a good reason, he still felt guilty for going against Maria's wishes. He wanted her to be happy, and though she told in him she was, he knew otherwise. In unguarded moments, he saw the look in her eyes when others spoke about their families, about how close they were. She wanted a relationship with her father, but resentment and the inability to truly express her emotions kept her from following through. Robert Hill had taken the first step by calling, and Steve felt it was his duty as the man who loved Maria to push her to meet him halfway.

He scrolled his contact list, his thumb poised over the screen. Then, he dialed. It rang, and eventually went to voice mail. "This is Steve Rogers, we spoke the other day. Please call me back at this number at your earliest convenience."

The phone went back into his pocket, and he broke into a jog back toward the base. He'd only gone a little over a mile when his phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he saw that it was Robert Hill returning his call. "Rogers… Yes, Mr. Hill… Of course, Bob… I wanted to talk to you about Maria…" Steve snorted. "Yes, she's _very_ stubborn, but she can be loving too… Well, she loves _me_ … No, not in so many words, but I can tell… I've _tried_ talking to her, but as you said, she's stubborn, and I don't want to… You're right. She's not someone you want to piss off… Thanksgiving is coming up in a few weeks. Would that be a good time to visit? Yes, sir… I'll do my best… Looking forward to meeting you too, sir."

Steve stood looking at his phone, and tried to ignore the pang of conscience telling him this wasn't a good idea. And maybe it wasn't, exactly. He'd give almost anything to speak to his parents one more time, just long enough to show them what he'd become, because without them, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to be who he is. Maria's father made her who she is, the woman he loves, and Steve wanted to meet the man at least once. He also had a few choice words for how he'd treated his only child while she was growing up, and even if Maria refused to take the trip, he would go alone.

 **The Barton Farm**

 **Columbia, Washington**

Cooper and Lila were playing on the living room floor, building a haphazard Lego city. Outside, they heard the familiar chop-thunk of their dad chopping wood. They looked up when Laura set a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk on the table.

"Snack time, kids." Lila climbed into her usual chair next to where her dad sat and Cooper sat across from her. The phone rang, and Mom went to answer it. As she passed the table, she said, "I'm going outside to talk to your dad. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes, mom," they chorused, as the screen door banged shut. Her sneakered feet thumped on the porch and down the stairs. Moments later, the chopping stopped and they could hear their father's voice sounding concerned. A moment later, he gave a whoop of joy. The kids ran to the window and looked out to see Mom and Dad hugging and laughing. Then Dad did something weird. At least Cooper thought it was weird. He rubbed Mom's stomach while they kissed.

Lila pressed her nose against the window. "What's Daddy doin' _that_ for, Coop?"

The boy shrugged. "Dunno." When Dad stepped back and pulled his cell phone out, Cooper dropped the curtain back into place. "C'mon. Let's finish buildin' the city 'fore you have to take a nap, 'n I have to do school work."

"'Kay."

Together, the kids returned to their Legos, not even noticing when their mother came back inside and went to the kitchen. She sniffed a few times, blew her nose, washed her hands, and went back to the laundry.

 **Vermont**

Being away from the job she was trained for made Natasha restless. Running and hiking helped, but she needed more. Being calm and in good spirits-for the most part-helped James stay that way as well, easing him into a mental state where he could interact with others. But right now, Natasha needed aggression, to fight, to work off the build-up of adrenaline. Normally, she would engage Clint or another agent in a round of sparring. She also knew the risks involved in doing such with James. He may not think so, but he was still in a fragile mental state, with a tenuous control over his emotions. No matter how gentle he was with her, beneath the surface lurked the Winter Soldier, a creature of instinct who had no emotional investment in the people around him aside from the completion of his mission. He'd shot her the first time because she got in the way. The second time, _she_ was his mission.

Going to the supply closet, she dug way in the back and found two sets of fighting sticks. "Thank you, Mockingbird."

Now all she had to do was convince James to spar with her.

Standing in front of his door, she wondered what he did in there alone besides reading and sleeping. Then she wondered why it mattered. Maybe one day he would trust her enough to tell her. But for now, she needed his help. She knocked and stepped back, just in case.

The door opened just a crack then was swung wide so that she could see almost the entire room. The bed had been made, though there were wrinkles where James had been sitting to read the book lying face down on the nightstand.

"Clint and I work out a couple times a week. Martial arts, boxing, stick-fighting, hand-to-hand. For that you need a partner. You game?"

She held up the fighting sticks, and he looked at them without expression. "Game?" He looked from her to the sticks and back. "What if I hurt you?"

"You won't." Holding out one set of the sticks, Natasha waited for him to take them, and soon, he did.

"Then I am… game."

~~O~~

James grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser, and followed Natasha outside. "I'm not familiar with this form of fighting."

She stopped and faced him with a half-smile, the one she used when she found something he said or did funny. "Let's be clear. Stick-fighting can be used for offense _or_ defense. Sparring is a form of training common to many combat sports. Essentially, it's free-form fighting with rules, customs, and agreements to make injuries unlikely. The priority is to not get hurt while refining your timing and trying out different techniques."

Natasha spent the next few minutes going over the salute and the basic moves. They took a short break to get a drink, and returned to the clearing. When done indoors, many would go barefoot, but that wasn't possible here as the ground was too rocky.

These particular sticks could be connected to make one long staff. However, James preferred to become proficient in one aspect before moving on to the next.

They faced each other across the clearing, and saluted. Natasha began by circling to the left. James moved to keep her in sight, and from gaining an advantage. She spun her sticks like batons with that slightly amused expression she used so often, as if daring him to make the first move. He declined.

Then, without warning, she attacked. James swung right and left, his sticks connecting solidly with Natasha's. For the time being, he used his weapons for defense only. Watching, learning, analyzing. Waiting for the right moment to go on the offensive.

When she began to tire, he struck, driving her back toward the cabin. He backed off for a moment, then struck again. At the last possible second, Natasha ducked. His sticks whooshed through the air where she'd been standing without connecting. She moved to her right to get behind him and he spun around to confront her once more.

Again, that not-smile. "Not bad, Barnes. Let's see what else you got."

Though small, Natasha was strong. She went on the offensive, and managed to land several blows that, had this been a fight for her life, and he were an ordinary man, they would've injured him badly enough for her to get away… or finish him off, if that was her goal.

James allowed her several small victories over the next few minutes then pressed his advantage, driving her backward until she stumbled against the trunk of a tree. He had one stick across her throat and the other pressed to her stomach, their bodies so close he could smell her scent. She panted, her warm breath filling the small space between them, and her upper chest pushed against his arm.

Her arms were free, but her weapons were trapped by his. If she wanted to get away, she could, but they would have to stay behind. Those green eyes, dark like the leaves on the late summer trees, slowly came up to meet his. What Natasha saw there, he couldn't say. All he knew was that the desire to kiss her was stronger than ever. His grip on her loosened just a fraction, and it was all she needed.

It felt as if the world were spinning around him, but it was he who was moving. He landed on his back in a pile of wet, green leaves, weeds and grass, the wind knocked out of him, but only for a moment. And in that moment, Natasha relieved him of his sticks, flipped him onto his stomach. He made it to his knees before she pressed her sticks against his throat, pulling him back against her.

Reaching back with his left hand, he wrenched the sticks from her grip, tossing them away. In a flash, he had one foot raised as the other swept around, knocking her to the ground. Finishing the turn, he lashed out, catching her around the ankle as she started to run.

Natasha fell face forward in the dirt, immediately rolling onto her back and kicking out with her free leg, the heel catching James in the solar plexus. He was ready for it, exhaling at the impact. That same leg wrapped around his neck as she pushed off the ground until she was on his shoulders again with her free leg hooked under his chin.

Somehow, she pulled him off balance, his chin pointed at the canopy of leaves overhead. He let go of her ankle, and both legs squeezed his head. As he reached back to grab her, she suddenly jumped free, ducked, rolled and came up with the sticks in her hands.

Twirling them like batons, Natasha came at him, swinging, and James dodged each one. Then, his left hand shot up, catching the right stick, yanking it from her grasp. She pressed forward, and he backed up until they were in the clearing again, each with one stick, dancing around each other in some strange sword fight, the smacking of their sticks hitting one another echoing in the forest.

From the corner of his eye, James spotted the second set of sticks. He worked his way over to them, using the toe of his shoe to kick one to Natasha. While her attention was briefly diverted, he dived for the other one, coming up one knee with the sticks crossed to block her downward strike.

They paused for a moment, their chests heaving. One eyebrow rose just a fraction of an inch, and was joined by that smile. Part cynicism, part playful. And the next thing he knew, he was on the ground with Natasha's knees on either side of his head, her feet hooked over his biceps. James prepared to retaliate when she made the shape of a T with her sticks. "Time out."

Natasha climbed to her feet and extended a hand to help him up. Although he didn't need it, he let her. When he was on his feet again, she put some distance between them. "Not bad for a newbie. Let's take a break, and go again."

James took two steps and suddenly, the scene around them wavered. In an instant, he was no longer at the cabin in Vermont. The entire area morphed into Isolde's room at the inn, like changing the station on a radio, but with pictures _and_ sound.

 _She was standing in front of a full length mirror brushing her long black hair, and wearing his shirt. It wasn't buttoned, and a strip of flesh from her neck down could be seen where the sides gaped._

 _He pulled his boxers on as he crossed the room. Coming up behind Isolde, he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her on the neck. "I have to go. My men are waiting for me."_

 _She turned within the circle of his embrace, looping her arms around his neck. "Will you be coming through Leipzig on your way back?"_

" _Maybe. Depends on how things go." He dropped one last kiss on her lips. "I could come back after the war, if you want."_

… _If you want. …If you want. …If you wa-a-a-ant._

Again, the scene changed.

 _Isolde turned into a hairless, emaciated, barely recognizable vision of her former self. Her hands, bent into claws, reached for him, calling out the nickname she'd given him because of his hairy chest. "Where are you going? Come back,_ _m_ _ein bärchen_ _! Don't leave meeeee!"_

~~O~~

The look on James' face was familiar to Natasha. He was having another flashback. What he needed now was something to anchor him in this century. She touched him on the arm, and he jerked away as if she'd burned him.

" _Bleib mir fern!_ " James turned back toward the cabin with Natasha on his heels.

"James! Please _stop!_ " Natasha caught up to him as he opened the door. He looked back at her, his eyes roaming over her features. She was patient, and soon, his eyes met hers. "My German's a little rusty, but I think you said stay away. That's _not_ going to happen. I'm with you as long as it takes."

He tried to look away, but she framed his face with her palms, and forced his head up. His right hand gently gripped her shoulders, as if he meant to push her away. "It's _my_ fault that Isolde died. All those people I killed. And for _what?_ So HYDRA could take over the world?" He growled, and his tone harshened. "I spent _years_ killing Nazis, and they turned me into one of them! An enemy to my country. My _world_." The sympathy in her eyes was almost more than James could take. "You should go before I hurt you too, Natasha."

She smiled at him, warmed by the fact that he was concerned for her safety enough that he would ask her to leave him alone when it was the last thing he needed or wanted. "You're _not_ going to hurt me."

"How do you _know?_ I've hurt so many innocent people. You must hate me."

"I don't hate you, James." The fingers of Natasha's left hand brushed through his hair, around the back of his ear to touch his earlobe. He inhaled sharply, and eyes sought hers, uncertain what he would see there. She smiled again as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

 **TBC**

 **A/N:** This is the last you'll be seeing of Kiba and Dooney for a while. I hope it was a satisfying ending for their subplot. They'll make a couple of cameo appearances later in the story. However, for the right price *cough, cough, chocolate, cough, cough*, I might be persuaded to bring them back.

If you're enjoying the mention of _Supernatural_ , let me know.

Mockingbird (Barbara "Bobbi" Morse) is a fictional character, a superheroine who appears in comic books published by Marvel Comics. She is a highly trained agent SHIELD, and has a PhD in biology. She is portrayed by Adrianne Palicki in the _Agents of SHIELD_ TV series. She is proficient in several forms of hand-to-hand combat and familiar with a wide range of weapons. The character usually uses a pair of batons which can be combined to form a single bō-staff in combat, weapons with which she has great expertise.

 _Mein_ _bärchen_ = My Little Bear

 _Bleib mir fern!_ = Stay away from me!


	13. Chapter 36

**Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Chapter 36**

Natasha pulled away from James when her phone beeped to let her know there was a message. Without looking at him, she checked and found a text from Clint. As always, short and to the point.

 _Call me ASAP. 9-1-1_.

Clint never used 9-1-1 unless it was a genuine emergency. And the number he called from was the one used exclusively for maintaining contact with his family. Concerned that something had happened to Laura or one of the kids, Natasha hit speed dial, pacing while she anxiously waited for her best friend to answer the phone, however, it was Laura who picked up. "Laura? Nat. What's wrong? I got an emergency text from Clint."

" _Nothing's wrong, Nat. We wanted you to be the first to know._ " A happy sigh came through the line. " _We're having another baby._ "

Natasha paused in mid pace, filled with excitement. "That's wonderful, Laura!"

There was a pause while Laura shushed the kids. " _We talked it over, and if it's a girl, we'd like to name her after you._ "

Her smile got wider. Though he was trying to be quiet, Natasha still heard James cross the wooden floor and go into his room. "I have to go. Tell Clint I'll call him in a few days, and give the kids a hug for me."

She ended the call and went into her room for clean clothes then to take a shower. It took a couple of washes to get all the twigs and leaves out of her hair, and she emerged feeling better than she had in a while. _I'm going to be an auntie again!_ Natasha wanted to do a victory dance, but refrained as she went to the kitchen to decide what to make for dinner.

A few minutes later, she heard James go into the bathroom and the shower came on. She still hadn't made a decision when he came out of the bathroom. His bedroom door didn't close, and she turned to find him standing in the hallway. "You're smiling again."

Until that moment, Natasha hadn't realized she smiled so infrequently that James felt the need to comment on it. She held up the phone. "I just found out Clint and his wife are having another baby." James seemed uncertain of his response. "If it's a girl, they're naming her after me."

"You seem excited."

Grasping his hand, she took a step closer. "I _am_ excited. It's an honor to have someone name their child after you."

He thought that over for a time. "Do you think President Buchanan was honored that I was named after him?"

That startled a laugh out of Natasha. "I'm sure he would have been, if he hadn't died almost fifty years before you were born."

Natasha laid her phone on the end table and went into the kitchen with James following. Apparently he wasn't ready to end this particular conversation. "Who were _you_ named after?"

One shoulder lifted and dropped as she started water for tea. "No one, as far as I know. My parents died in a fire when I was seven, and shortly after, I was taken to the Red Room. I don't even know where they're buried."

"You were never told?"

"No. Sentimentality had no place in the 2R facility. The matron, Madame B, told us that our lives began the day we arrived, and anything that happened before had no significance. Family photos were destroyed, as were toys and other keepsakes. Friendships among the girls, and especially between the girls and the staff, were strictly forbidden. Any breech of that edict resulted in severe punishment for both parties."

To keep from seeing his pity, Natasha looked out the window. It was open just a crack to let in the breeze, and when it touched her skin, she managed not to shiver. In just a few brief moments, she'd gone from elated to glum.

She could still feel James standing behind her, and wondered what was going through his mind. Natasha turned the stove off and lifted the kettle. But before she could pour the water into the cups, it was taken from her. She looked over her shoulder at James, and though he said nothing, she could see empathy in his eyes. A wave of something that felt like affection caused her to look away.

James waited for her to move out of the way to pour the hot water into the cups. Natasha pulled out a chair and sat down, her head propped on her palm, and her eyes staring at the table top. She looked up when a cup came into her line of vision. Smiling her thanks, she brought it to her lips as James joined her. Though he too kept his head down as if the tabletop were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, she knew he was watching her.

Swirling the last of the tea in her cup, Natasha looked for a pattern in the leaves, seeing only a jumble of green that meant nothing. She went to the sink to rinse out the cup. With her back to him, James asked, "Will you have children some day?"

Hanging her head, Natasha took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not able to have children of my own, and my lifestyle precludes adoption." To forestall any more inquiries, she went into her room and shut the door. To calm herself, she moved into one of the more complicated Tai Chi routines she preferred, and soon, she felt somewhat better.

Her appetite was still gone, however James would need to be fed. Briefly, she thought about leaving him to fend for himself then decided against it. When she came out again, she found her companion sitting on the sofa eating a sandwich and watching the James Bond movie, _Moonraker_ , obviously fascinated by the idea of space exploration. He would be, considering he'd dragged Steve to the Stark expo just before shipping out.

Instead of closeting herself in her room, Natasha took her usual seat at the opposite end of the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. Bond had just met up with Manuela, his contact in Rio de Janeiro, when James muted the sound. He put his plate on the coffee table and turned to face her. Before he even opened his mouth, she knew what he was going to say.

"Why did you do that?"

"What? Kiss you? To show that I don't hate you. Just don't expect it to happen every day." James seemed to have more to say, but didn't. He turned the sound on and they watched the rest of the movie in silence.

~~O~~

James concentrated on the movie as much as he could with Natasha sitting just a few feet away. He has always been aware of her as a woman. Even more so lately. That's why it annoyed him that she hadn't kissed him out of affection, but to prove a point. It hadn't felt like that to him. And if that's all it was, then why had she closed her eyes? Why had she sighed when their lips touched? Why had she rubbed her lips against his?

He'd been startled when it happened he hadn't thought to respond until it was too late. What would Natasha had done if he had returned the kiss, or even tried to deepen it? Taken her in his arms and held her close?

When Natasha moved away, James had wanted to beg her to stay. Then, she was gone and he wanted her to come back.

Perhaps it was time for them to return to the city before anything happened that they couldn't take back. He'd been thinking about it for a while, and almost felt ready to confront Steve. To present himself as his friend once again. He had Natasha to thank for that. How could he express his appreciation for all she'd done? A kiss was out of the question, and beyond that, he had no ideas. A simple thank you wasn't nearly enough. When he and Steve were together again, he would ask him what to do.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

Standing in the sunshine, hands shoved in his pockets, Steve waited for the quinjet to land. When the hatch opened, he was there to greet the pilot. They shook hands. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. When you don't have the skills to get the job done, you call an expert. And that would be me."

The men headed inside, Steve leading the way to a small conference room off the main entrance. "Right. Give your girlfriend my apologies for the interruption."

Clint tugged at his ear. "Don't have a girlfriend."

"You were home alone?"

The archer snorted, one eyebrow moving upward a fraction of an inch. "Didn't say that."

Deciding that asking anymore questions would only give Clint the opportunity to embarrass him, Steve took a seat. He knew Maria wouldn't want her personal life to become fodder for the rumor mill, yet he needed advice if he was to help her heal the relationship with her father. Clint could be trusted with the information, if he didn't know already. "What do you know about Maria's family situation?"

Clint crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other. "Same as you. Her mother died when she was born, and she was raised by her father. Her father's an attorney with a prestigious law firm in Chicago. They've only spoken one time in the last fifteen years. They don't call, text, email _or_ IM. What her father does and doesn't know about her job is anybody's guess. Why the interest?"

Steve nodded while rubbing his hands together, not surprised that Clint had full disclosure. There had been talk of a dalliance many years ago when Clint first started with SHIELD, but he hadn't given it credence given the archer's penchant for being nosy. "Her father's been calling and texting the past few weeks."

He had Clint's attention now. The archer's curiosity would push him to find the answer, and while Steve wanted to know as well, he felt it was best for all concerned that they-he and Maria-get the information from the source.

"You want to know how to get her to speak to her father."

"I have a theory as to why the sudden need to make contact. However, it can only be confirmed by Mr. Hill."

Leaning forward, Clint rested his clasped hands on the table. "Got it. So here's what you do…"

~~O~~

"Commander Hill, could I have a word?" Jogging to catch up to Maria, Steve came alongside, keeping pace with her shorter stride. "In private?"

A crease appeared between her eyes at the interruption. "Of course." As they were near the barracks, Steve ushered her into his room and shut the door. Maria stood near the door, impatient to be on her way. "What's up?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up. I don't have any family, so I was hoping we could take a trip together."

The crease disappeared. "That's doable. Where to?"

He leaned against the end of the bed, close enough to touch her if he wanted, but didn't. "Chicago. I told your father we'd come for the holiday."

~~O~~

"You did _what?_ " Maria flung open the door to Steve's quarters and burst into the hall.

Steve came to the door, calling out to her. He didn't shout, just said her name softly. "Maria."

She stopped, made a one-eighty, and stomped back, shoving a finger in his face. "How _dare_ you go behind my back like that? Who _told_ you it was a good idea?" Steve didn't answer. The guilt on his face did that for him. "Barton!" She took a deep breath to get herself under control, and was only partially successful. "Call and tell him we're not coming. That we have other plans. Unbreakable plans."

"Can't. I booked us seats on a sold out flight. The tickets are non-refundable." Rogers crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb. "He's expecting us the Monday before Thanksgiving. If you want to cancel, you'll have to call him yourself."

With a growl, Maria shook a fist in Steve's face and growled. "Grr! I really _hate_ you right now."

Steve gently pushed her arm down, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him. "No, you don't. You love me." She looked away, and they suddenly noticed they weren't alone. Santino was standing a few feet away looking like a trapped animal.

Maria's entire demeanor changed. Her mask fell into place, and she withdrew her hand, tucking it out of sight with the other, her back and shoulders stiffening as she put a respectable distance between them. "This isn't over, Captain Rogers."

She turned on her heel and stalked away. Steve called out, "Yes, it is, Commander Hill. We're _going_ , whether _you_ like it or not."

Just before she disappeared around the corner, she shot back, "Not!"

Grinning, Steve turned to Santino, shrugged and went into his room. Taking out his phone, he made a call. "Tony? Steve… I need a favor… The use of one of your private jets… Monday before Thanksgiving… Two weeks… Does _everyone_ know about Maria and me? That's because Thor's been on Asgard keeping an eye on Loki… Oh? Didn't know that… And Tony? Thanks."

Satisfied that he'd blown the theory that he couldn't lie and get away with it out of the water, Steve changed into workout clothes and headed down to the gym for a training session with his recruits. Most of his squad were A-1 material. With some additional time, the rest would be battle ready with the others. He hadn't wanted to do it, but he'd already cut one guy loose. SHIELD couldn't afford to have agents and attack, infiltration and rescue squads who weren't the best of the best.

~~O~~

Angered that Steve would take such a liberty, Maria headed for her office where she dropped the files she was carrying on the desk. She wasn't dressed to take a run except for her shoes, but she didn't care. She had to get outside, away from everyone.

Her hands hit the crash bar, and she emerged into a fall afternoon that was still somewhat warm even for Virginia. She picked a direction and started running as fast as she could. Eventually, she slowed down to a jog to catch her breath then built back up to her usual speed.

When she could run no more, Maria threw herself down under a tree with her back against the trunk, her chest heaving and sweat soaking her clothes. Soon, her breathing evened out. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her head on them.

All these years, she told herself she didn't care what her father thought of her or her career choices. He certainly hadn't made any sort of effort to keep in touch with her after their last meeting more than ten years ago.

It was all a load of BS. Deep inside, she was still a lonely little girl pining for her father's attention. She wanted her father to acknowledge her as his daughter, to be proud of who she was and what she'd become. She wanted him to be the kind of father who bragged on his child so much that people started avoiding him for fear of being shown yet another example of how she was so much smarter and more successful than theirs. Maria felt foolish for wishing for the impossible.

Getting to her feet, she brushed dirt and bark from the back of her pants, and started back toward the training camp. On the way, she took out her phone, scrolled through her contact list until she came to her father's number. Steve said she would have to be the one to cancel their plans. Well, so be it. She hit dial, but when she heard her father's voice, she couldn't speak.

" _Maria? Are you there?_ "

She ended the call, shut the phone off and shoved it into her pocket where it remained for the rest of the day.

Later, in her room, she turned it back on to find that she had several missed calls and texts. Most were from her father. She deleted the texts without reading, and the voicemails without listening to them. The ones from Steve she just left alone. She wanted to be close to him tonight, but was still angry that he'd made all these plans without consulting her, totally ignoring the fact that, had their trip been to somewhere tropical, she'd have been fine with his take-charge attitude.

After her shower, Maria took a t-shirt from the dresser to wear to bed. It was one of Steve's that she'd pilfered. And while it didn't smell like him, it made her feel safe and cared for that he never asked for it back.

She lay down and pulled the sheet over her, staring up at the ceiling until sleep dulled her senses.

Hours later, Maria awoke from a dream about the events in D.C., calling out Steve's name when the third helicarrier crashed into the Potomac. Sitting up in bed, she pushed the hair off her face, tossed the covers away and hung her legs over the side. She was contemplating going to the cafeteria for a cold drink when there was a light knock at her door. Just for a moment, she considered not answering then she heard Steve's voice.

" _Maria? You okay?_ "

She padded to the door and opened it, one hand holding the knob and the other on her hip. "Why are you here?"

Steve pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Was on my way to the cafeteria when I heard you calling out. Must've been quite a dream."

"It was." They looked at each other and away.

"If you're okay, I'll just…"

"Wait." Maria slipped on a pair of pants and shoved her feet into the sneakers next to her bed. She stepped into the hall and shut the door. Together, they walked to the cafeteria, deserted at this time of night except for three trainees talking softly in a corner. Steve got them each a bottle of water, and carried it to a table as far from the others as possible. They sat in silence for a while then the trainees left and it was just them. The sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen marked the presence of the prep cooks.

Because it his idea to come here, Maria let him start the conversation.

"I should probably apologize for the way I handled this thing with your father."

She shook her head. "Steve…"

"But I'm not going to." Taken aback, Maria could only stare at Steve. "What if this is the last chance you'll ever get to see him again? Do you really want him to die thinking you didn't care?"

Her back stiffened and her hand clenched on the water bottle, crinkling the plastic. "I _don't_ care. That man made my childhood a living _hell_. He's not getting the chance to do it to me again."

"And you're sure that's what will happen? The last time you saw him, you were a girl. Now you're an adult, doing a job that you love, with power and prestige." She crossed her arms and looked off into the distance, but made no comment. "What if he's trying to make amends?"

Her phone vibrated on the table. She scowled at the caller ID, and sent it to voice mail. A few seconds later, it buzzed to let her know there was a message. She ignored it, proving his point.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

Too tired to fight him anymore, Maria accessed voice mail, listened then hit end without deleting. Very carefully, she laid the phone on the table and crossed her arms when what she really wanted to do was throw the thing at the wall. _Dammit! Why did Celia have to call_ _now_ _? What the hell could she want?_

~~O~~

Steve reached for her hand, and she reluctantly let him hold her. "Who was it?"

"No one important. My father's attorney. Wants me to call her back ASAP."

"So call her."

Maria shook her head. "I don't want to talk to _her_ either."

Confused, Steve released her hand and picked up the bottle to take a drink. He recapped it and set it back the in the exact same spot. "Why not?"

There was a moment of hesitation, as if their conversation had brought up old memories she'd long ago buried under hard work and determination. Strangely enough, they were what first attracted him to her. Now, they were working against him.

"Remember when I said I haven't always been a good girl?"

"What of it?"

She sat cross-legged in the seat, arms crossed, rubbing up and down her biceps. "If you knew everything about me, you wouldn't… like me."

His relief was almost a physical thing. "That's _not_ going to happen. There isn't anything you could say or do that would drive me away."

"I have a criminal record."

Steve shrugged. "Lots of people do." He didn't mention his own brushes with the law back before Dr. Erskine and the serum.

"I started getting into trouble at age thirteen. Not that I didn't before, but that's when it began to escalate.

"Shoplifting, spray painting graffiti on the sides of buildings, skipping school, smoking, taking money from my father's wallet, getting into fights with other students, mostly boys."

A snort of humor came out before Steve could stop it. He wasn't at all surprised that she started fights nor that they were with the boys rather than girls. "Sorry. Go on."

Just for a moment, a smile appeared then was gone again though there was a slight glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "My father rationalized my behavior as the onset of puberty. After the fifth or sixth incident that had to be… finagled, he sent me to boarding school hoping the discipline would straighten me out. It was an epic fail.

"I was expelled less than three months into the year for picking the lock on one of the instructor's file cabinets and stealing the answers to an exam. Sold them to ten students before someone turned me in, but that's not why I was expelled. The dean sent me packing because I refused to return the money."

She picked up her water bottle, finding it empty. Steve went to get refills, and waited for her to continue. He could've rushed her, but this was her story, and he would let it unfold at her speed.

"My father made restitution to the students, and made a generous donation to the school. My punishment was to be placed in a public school. Didn't do much better there. I made good grades, but was frequently in detention for talking back to the teachers, starting fights, or acting out in class. Tried out for softball and basketball. Wasn't accepted. Said it was my attitude. So, dad put me in martial arts as a way to channel my 'aggression'."

Maria paused in her recitation of her life of crime, apparently to check his reaction. Although he found this stroll through her childhood memories fascinating, Steve kept his expression neutral.

"For their fifth anniversary, Dad gave Mom a 1966 Jaguar Roadster convertible, and she gave him the news that he was going to be a father. Whenever I could get away with it, I would go down to the garage and sit in it, pretending that it was just Mom and me out for a drive. It made me feel close to her. Though he kept it in pristine condition, he never once took me for a ride in it.

"When I turned sixteen, and got my license, I was sure he'd let me take it for a drive, even if it was just around the block, but he said no. So, after he left for the office, I took the keys. I was on my way home when the police pulled me over."

She adjusted her position, one knee up and sitting on the other foot. "Dad came home to get briefs he'd left in his home office and discovered the car missing. He knew I'd taken it, but instead of waiting for me to come home, he reported it stolen. He's planned on leaving me in jail for a couple of days to teach me a lesson.

"The first night, one of the guards thought he'd have himself a little late night fun with a teenage girl. He landed in the ER with a broken wrist, and sore *****. Dad sent his _assistant_ to bail me out the next day. His attorney convinced the guard to take his questionable ethics elsewhere, like another state, and that it would be in his best interest _not_ to return to Illinois… _ever_."

The contents of the second water bottle were gone, yet Steve had the feeling there was still more to the story.

"There were a few incidents when I first joined the military, minor skirmishes that were quickly resolved." She put her feet on the floor. "I was resentful of authority."

Steve looked at her and chuckled. "That's _it?_ I thought you'd _killed_ someone."

Maria got to her feet, all semblance of humor gone from her expression and her tone. "I _did_." She leaned close, one hand on the table. "My college roommate, the first friend I ever had that liked me for more than my father's money, was assaulted by the star quarterback. He bragged to his friends, and laughed about it, said she cried assault because he wouldn't return her calls after their one night stand.

"Her parents told her to 'tough it out' and not make waves. For _weeks_ , she was afraid to leave the dorm. I went to her instructors for class assignments, brought her food, washed her clothes. I forced her to shower and get dressed every day, brush her hair, anything that would push her back into the world. Eventually, she started doing these things for herself again. For months, I tried to convince her to speak to a counselor, but she refused. I even asked my father for help bringing the creep to justice. He said there was nothing he could do if she wouldn't press charges.

"So, I confronted the sorry excuse for a human being in the gym-he always worked out late at night. He tried to do to me what he did to her. We fought, and I hit him with a dumbbell. He fell back and struck his head on the corner of the metal weight rack." Maria stopped to take a breath.

"The paramedics were called. He died on the way to the hospital. A witness corroborated my story. It never went to trial." She took a deep breath and let it out. "She died in a car accident about five years ago."

Steve stood up and tried to take her in his arms, to offer comfort, but she wouldn't let him touch her. "Killing that jerk was an accident, Maria. You were defending yourself, _and_ your friend."

A harsh growl of frustration and pain erupted from her throat. "You don't _understand_ , Steve. He wasn't the first person I killed, nor was he the last."

Confused, Steve asked, "Who was the first?"

Maria turned away, speaking over her shoulder. "My mother."

 **TBC**

 _Moonraker_ (1979) is the eleventh spy film in the _James Bond_ series, and the fourth to star Roger Moore as the fictional MI6 agent James Bond.


	14. Chapter 37

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 37**

Without looking at him, Maria added, "Sorry about the trip. I'll pay you for the tickets, and take my things out of your room tomorrow."

She walked away, leaving Steve standing in the empty cafeteria, one hand reaching out for her. He would've followed, but sensed she needed to be alone for a while. Maybe in a day or two, she'd be ready to talk again.

 **Vermont**

After that first sparring session, James and Natasha agreed to add it to their routine three times a week. Natasha used it as a way to help him control and direct his aggression and anger, and, de-stress. It seemed to be working. In the times when he was left on his own, James seemed more relaxed, less on edge. Now it was time to start introducing him to the public outside of the general store where they shopped and bought gas.

Tomorrow, they would have a meal at the bar and grill, listen to music, and observe the interpersonal byplay between the genders, specifically body language, and those subtle clues people used to communicate without conversation. She'd also encourage him to ask someone to dance. She would have to keep her instincts on alert for trouble, but that was a small price to pay to know that he could handle himself with strangers without needing a buffer.

Natasha stretched her tired muscles while James showered and dressed, then got her own shower. When she returned to the living room, he was standing with the front door open buttoning his shirt.

"Grab your jacket, Barnes. We're going out to dinner." For a moment, he looked at her as if she were nuts. He wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last. Then his expression changed to show not excitement, but curiosity.

"Why?" he asked as he went into his room, coming out within seconds.

"Don't feel like cooking tonight." James followed her to the car, getting into the passenger seat as always. Once on the road, Natasha tuned the radio to a station that played Stark's favorite music, and turned it up loud. Though she liked to pretend to be more musically sophisticated than the billionaire, she enjoyed listening to high-energy tunes now and then.

She chanced a quick glance at James. Every few seconds, he winced, as if the screaming guitar riffs, bass and crashing drums were physically painful. Taking pity on him, she changed to a country station. "Better?"

"Yes." He visibly relaxed, turning sideways with his left arm over the back of the seat. "What _was_ that?"

"Heavy Metal. It's a music genre where loudness counts as a virtue. Some names you might want to remember are AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, KISS, and Iron Maiden, especially if you meet a man named Tony Stark."

Shifting in his seat, James looked uncomfortable. "They won't be playing it while we eat?"

"I doubt it." Reba McEntire came on asking if there was life out there. Natasha adjusted the radio's volume. "This isn't just about dinner. You have to get used to being around people you don't know. Observe how they relate to one another. Talk to them, even if it's just to order a beer, or to ask a woman to dance."

James' expression was dubious. He didn't want to do this; that much was obvious. But she knew he would because she asked him to. She'd been through this before with lower level agents and a few marks. He had a crush on her. Or at least the start of one.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Second Chance Bar and Grill, cruising between the rows of pick-ups and SUVs until she found a spot that suited her requirements. It had to be where she could see it from inside and provide an easy escape route, just in case.

At the door, she gave James a quick onceover, adjusting his collar, and giving him an encouraging pat on the chest. "Try to smile, and if you have any questions, just ask."

He nodded and reached past her to open the door.

~~O~~

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, James wiped away the condensation that obscured his image, revealing his face a little at a time. He rubbed his right hand down his chest, feeling the roughness of new hair growth, a reminder of when his chest had once been covered with dark hair, and the reason Isolde had given him the nickname My Little Bear. Whatever his captors had done to stop the growth must have worn off.

He pulled a t-shirt on as he opened the door and went into his room to finish getting dressed. Natasha was just putting on her ball cap and jacket when he came out.

Soon, they were in the SUV and on their way. She turned on music that hurt his ears and made him feel angry when he had no reason to be. Then, she changed stations, and while it wasn't what he was used to, it was tolerable. After a while, he began to enjoy what Natasha called country music, though not as much as jazz.

She parked the car, and at the door, she adjusted his collar, resting her palms on his chest for a moment. It felt… intimate and James wondered how he could get her to do it again.

The interior was dimly lit except behind the bar and over the tables. As always, Natasha chose a table where she could see the exits and still have her back to the wall. They ordered beer, burgers and fries.

When they finished eating, James thought they would return to the cabin. However, Natasha seemed content to sit and listen to the band play, her eyes sweeping around the room while appearing to be only fractionally interested in her surroundings. But he knew different.

Then, she leaned close, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music. "There are a lot of single women in here. You should ask one to dance."

James didn't want to do this. He felt anxious in the way one did when your instincts told you something bad was about to happen, and his were telling him that this wasn't a good idea. But he would do it because Natasha asked him to, and he knew she only wanted to help him become a part of this world once again.

He breathed deeply, and finally began to relax when the lights dimmed over the dance floor, and the next song was much slower. Natasha touched his hand. "Go now. Remember to smile, introduce yourself and ask her name, say something nice, don't hold her too tight. When the song ends, escort her back to her table, and remember to thank her. If she asks about me, make something up."

Pushing back from the table, James stood and moved around the room nodding to the women until one smiled at him, and he returned it. She wasn't what he would call beautiful, but she had pretty eyes, green like Natasha's, with blonde hair instead of red. "Would you like to dance?"

"Sure. My name's Bethanne. What's yours?"

"James." He held out his hand. She took it, and drew him after her to the dance floor. Taking his cue from the others, he put his hands on her waist when hers touched his shoulders. They swayed side to side, turning in a circle. _Say something nice._ "You have pretty eyes."

Bethanne giggled. "Thanks. Never seen you here before."

"Never been here before."

She moved a little closer, pointing with her chin. "Who's that girl you came with?"

Natasha had told him to make something up, so… "My… cousin."

"Not a girlfriend?"

"No."

James stiffened when Bethanne's hands squeezed the upper edge of his backside, and her thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. He knew women were more bold now, and James found himself at a loss as to what his response should be. Then, over Bethanne's shoulder, he saw Natasha dancing with a stocky, bearded man. They were talking and laughing. James didn't like it, though he wasn't sure why.

The song ended, and he was about to escort Bethanne back to her seat. However, Natasha and her partner stayed on the floor, so James did as well. The next song started, and he changed his hold to the more traditional pose he remembered. She didn't seem to like the touch of his metal hand, giving it an odd glance.

As they moved around the floor, he listened closely to the lyrics to the song about two men as close as brothers, reminding him of the fight with Steve on the ship and dragging him ashore after the crash.

 _The road is long  
With many a winding turn  
That leads us to who knows where  
Who knows where_

 _But I'm strong,  
Strong enough to carry him  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

 _So, on we go.  
His welfare is of my concern  
No burden is he to bear  
We'll get there_

 _For I know  
He would not encumber me  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

 _If I'm laden at all  
I'm laden with sadness  
That everyone's heart  
Isn't filled with the gladness  
And love for one another_

The song struck a chord, a good one. Then, he saw the man dancing with Natasha whisper something in her ear that made her laugh.

James abruptly pulled away from Bethanne, and without a word of apology, left her in the middle of the dance floor. He pushed his way through the crowd, grabbed Natasha's hand, and dragged her out the front door to the SUV.

Natasha jerked free, those green eyes blazing. "What is _wrong_ , James?"

"Take me back to the cabin." He went around to the passenger side, waiting impatiently for the door to be unlocked. And when it was, he got in, buckled up, and turned toward the window, not saying a word for the entire ride, not wanting to explain the conflicting emotions circling inside his head. Frustration, annoyance, anger, all mixed up with the affinity he felt with Natasha. And there, on the periphery, an emotion he couldn't remember ever experiencing before: jealousy.

James had no way of explaining his feelings and actions to Natasha, so when they returned to the cabin, he went into his room and shut the door.

~~O~~

The hour was late when Natasha pulled up to the cabin and turned the engine off. The SUV hadn't even come to a stop when James opened the door and got out, taking the stairs in one bound. He left the front door open, and as she reached the porch, Natasha heard his bedroom door slam and the lock engage. It disturbed her because he hadn't locked his door in weeks. Standing in the hall, Natasha listened for movement, hearing nothing, not even the creak of the bedsprings.

James had not spoken since the order to take him home, reminding her of how he'd been during the fight on the bridge. Thinking back to just before, all Natasha could remember was the song playing, _He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother_ by The Hollies. She booted up the computer and did a search for the song's lyrics, skimming through the verses.

 _It's a long, long road  
From which there is no return  
While we're on the way to there  
Why not share?_

 _And the load  
Doesn't weigh me down at all  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

She could see how he would be affected by the words, and wished there was something she could do to make it better for him. That wouldn't happen anytime soon, if he wouldn't speak to her, tell her what was wrong. The best course of action would be to leave him alone, wait for him to come to her. Natasha was patient, but only up to a point. If James didn't at least speak to her in a couple of days, she would call Steve and Sam. Though he could and would help, subtlety wasn't one of Stark's virtues, and the situation required a delicate touch. Clint could be counted on to help. On the other hand, it was best to leave Bruce and the Other Guy out of the equation for this mission.

But was it memories of his life before HYDRA that caused his reaction, or something else? There was no way to know unless he told her.

After getting ready for bed, Natasha once again listened at the door, knocking lightly. "James? If you want to talk, knock on my door, day or night."

There was no response, so she set the alarms, turned out the lights, and went into her room. Hours later, she was awakened by the flushing of the toilet. She briefly considered confronting James in the hall, but that could lead to trouble for both of them.

Try as she might, Natasha couldn't figure out what had caused James to act as he did. She went over their night in detail. There hadn't been a problem until the song. Closing her eyes, she lay in the dark listening.

 **Secret SHIELD Training Base**

 **Several Days Later**

Maria had left to keep up appearance at Stark Industries and was due back today. Hoping to speak to her, Steve stayed in the cafeteria as long as he could, knowing she would want coffee before going to her office. Eventually, he headed for the gym for hand-to-hand practice with his squad.

Hours later, he returned to his room. Before she left, Maria had removed all her belongings that had accumulated in his closet and dresser just as she said she would. Her personal items were gone from the bathroom as well, though it still smelled like her citrus basil shower gel. The same scent was on his pillow and sheets, keeping him awake at night.

He needed advice again, but didn't know who to call. Thor and Stark were the only Avengers in any kind of long-term relationship. The Asgardian had returned to his homeworld amid rumors of a possible war. And Stark… Steve decided to turn to the billionaire for advice only if he were desperate, and he hadn't reached that point yet.

The hollow feeling in his gut had more to do with needing to eat than the thought he might lose the woman he loved. Steve had always known he would have a fight on his hands with Maria, and he was nowhere near ready to throw in the towel. When she realized that helping her mend the relationship with her father proved his love wasn't just a passing phase, maybe then she'd come around. Until then, Steve resigned himself to spending his nights alone.

He ran a comb though his hair and put on his sneakers for the walk down to the cafeteria. Standing in the doorway, his eyes swept the room. Though it was dinner time, the room was nearly empty. Earlier, Steve had been invited to ride into town with a group of trainees to watch the last game of the World Series. The Yankees weren't playing, so he politely declined.

In a dim corner, Maria sat staring at her tablet, occasionally sipping from a mug of coffee. A plate of food sat untouched. In the time they'd known each other, he'd gotten good at reading her moods, even when her mask was in place. Something was wrong, and he intended to find out what it was.

Steve helped himself to a variety of items from the line, and carried the tray to Maria's table, waiting for her to invite him to join her or send him away. She looked up then back to her tablet, and he took that as permission to stay.

By the end of his meal, not one word had passed between them. Maria got up for refill, and returned, sliding into her seat without speaking. At one point, she took out her phone, letting her thumb rub over the screen as if she were trying to decide if she wanted to make a call.

The phone clattered on the table and she pushed it away. Steve caught it as it slid off the edge, placing it in front of her without a word. When she reached for it, he snagged her hand, refusing to let go until she acknowledged his presence. "Whatever's wrong, Maria, let me help."

Maria shook her head, and that's when he saw the slight redness around her eyes. Others might attribute it to lack of sleep, but he knew different.

Steve gathered up the remains of his meal, added Maria's dishes to the tray, and carried it all to the pass through. He returned, holding out his hand, and she took it after a slight hesitation. She followed along as he pushed open the door that lead to the outdoor obstacle course.

Once outside, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and started walking. They came to the end of the field where a picnic area had been set up out of sight of the main building. He sat down on one of the benches, and she joined him. They'd been there for a while, the night quiet except for the sounds of animals in the bushes and the rustle of the leaves in the cool breeze when Maria finally spoke. "Let's go to Chicago now instead of Thanksgiving."

Shocked, and not wanting to show it, Steve nodded. "Okay." He paused, trying to work out what had changed her mind about going in the first place. "Why the change?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she glanced at him and away. "I called Celia."

"Who?"

"Celia Montgomery. She's been Dad's attorney since I was a child." Maria took hold of his hand, gripping it tight. "My father's been diagnosed with terminal cancer."

Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and kissed her temple. "I'm sorry. How long?

"A year, maybe two."

"When do you want to leave?"

One shoulder went up then down. "Tomorrow. Can you change the flight?"

Holding in a grin, Steve took out his phone, using the speaker so Maria could listen in. "It's Steve. I need another favor."

" _Speak and it shall be done, Old Man. It's not like I have anything else to do than wait by the phone for your call._ " The sarcasm in Stark's tone had an underlying note of weariness telling Steve he had interrupted something important. Too late now.

"Could we get the use of the plane tomorrow instead of Thanksgiving?"

He heard voices in the background, then Stark came on again. " _Jarvis is taking care of it as we speak. Any time after sunrise_."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

" _More than one, but who's counting? Give Hill my regards._ "

The line cut off, and Steve put the phone away, turning a smug grin on Maria. She slugged him on the shoulder. "I can't believe you _lied_ to me."

"As lies go, this one was small. Ready to go in?"

She shook her head. "Let's stay here for a while."

He picked up her hand and kissed the knuckles, keeping hold as she snuggled closer. The warmth of her body made Steve feel cared for even if she never said the words.

Fall in Virginia was cool enough for a sweater, peppered with periodic rain. Same for Chicago. The forecast for this week said sunny days and cool nights. He made a mental note to include a jacket in his luggage.

The sun went down, and it was full dark by the time they returned to the base. Steve didn't assume that Maria would want to stay with him. Still, he was disappointed when she went into her own room and shut the door.

Sometime later, there was a light knock at his door. Steve stuck a bookmark to hold his place and set his book aside. Maria was at the door. She turned as if to leave, and he grabbed her hand to stop her. "Please come in." He led her to the small table while he sat on the side of the bed. "When my mother was diagnosed with tuberculosis, the doctor's tried to knock it out with antibiotics, but by that time, it was too late. She didn't have long, and was isolated at the sanatorium. I wasn't even able to hold her hand when she passed." In his head, Steve once again heard Bucky's voice after the funeral saying he'd be with him to the end of the line, and wished that were true now.

Maria crossed her arms in a defensive posture, but didn't say anything. Wouldn't even look at him.

"I know you believe that caring for a father who seldom showed affection somehow makes you weak." Steve got down on one knee in front of Maria, turning her to look at him with a hand on her cheek. "It doesn't. It makes you human."

Standing, Steve held out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Maria took it. He got into bed and scooted to the wall, leaving the outside for her. She climbed in and lay down, and Steve spooned her from behind. He smoothed her hair away from her neck a planted a kiss below her ear.

The next morning, they drove Steve's car out the private airport, and were escorted onto the plane. The inside looked like a luxury hotel suite rather than transportation from point A to point B. An attendant took their luggage. "My name is Dominique. We'll be taking off in just a few minutes. Please have a seat and buckle your seatbelts. Once we're in the air, you can move about the cabin."

Maria made a show of not staring at the over-the-top opulence as she sat next to Steve. "How long is the flight?"

"About two hours, miss." Dominique returned to the front of the plane, and soon they were in the air. The attendant carried a tray with two tall, slender glasses. "Champagne?"

"Thank you." Steve handed one to Maria, keeping one for himself.

"If you require anything else, please let me know."

Steve shifted in his seat. "How do we go about getting a rental car?"

The woman smiled showing straight white teeth. "That's all been arranged, sir. There's a car waiting at the hangar." She passed him a keycard. "Mr. Stark has also had his personal suite at the Belisarius prepared for your arrival."

He slipped the card into his breast pocket and waited for Dominique to disappear behind the cockpit door. As he turned, Maria tapped her glass against his. "Here's to having rich friends."

They drank down the champagne and set the glasses on the table. Steve stood up to take off his jacket. "All I asked for was a ride to Chicago. Didn't expect all this."

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

Steve roamed the length of the plane, opening cabinets and peering out the windows. In the tail section, he found a bedroom with a double bed, and a full bath, and returned to Maria, now sitting on the plush sofa along port side of the plane. He dropped down next to her, his arm along her shoulders. "Should we take advantage of Stark's hospitality while we're here? Wouldn't want your dad to feel crowded or to be inconvenienced by guests."

He turned at the loud snort to find her grinning for the first time in days. "We'll be expected to stay with him."

Maria pressed her palm to his cheek, urging him down for a hot kiss. That same hand blazed a trail down to the waistband of his pants and started tugging his shirt free. Steve grabbed her wrist. "What if the attendant comes back?"

She aimed a mock annoyed glance at him. "Don't you want to become a member of the Mile High Club?"

"If that's what I think it is," Steve got to his feet, taking her hands and bringing her up with him, "there's a bed in the back."

Moments later, they were on the bed with the door closed.

 **Private Airfield**

 **Chicago**

Maria was curled against Steve's side, his arm around her, and his fingers trailing up and down her bare arm when there was a knock at the door. "Your pardon, but we'll be landing soon. The captain asked that you take your seats."

Steve followed her out to the cabin to their seats still tucking his shirt in. Maria finger combed her hair and called it a day.

The landing was smooth, barely a bump when it hit the runway. They coasted to a stop next to a large hangar, and soon the door was opened by Dominique. Stepping outside brought a chill wind pushing at them as a young man tipped his hat and held out a set of keys. "It's gassed up and ready to go, sir. With Mr. Stark's compliments."

Maria's clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping. Steve didn't bother.

The car was obviously new, polished to a brilliant white shine, the sun glinting off the windshield and the custom rims. And Steve, he held the keys dangling from one hand as he pulled off his aviator glasses to get a better look. Maria took the keys, using the remote to open the trunk then went around to the driver's side. "I'm driving."

"Yeah. Okay." They buckled in, and she started the engine. Its throaty rumble sent a thrill through her while Steve caressed the leather dash. "What is it?"

"This, Captain Rogers, is a fresh off the assembly line Porsche 918 Spyder. Under that hood is an eight hundred and eighty-seven horsepower engine capable of reaching speeds of up to two hundred and eleven miles per hour. It does zero to sixty in two point two seconds." She gunned the engine, let off the brake and shifted into first.

"We're not going that fast, are we?"

Slipping on the set of designer sunglasses stuck in the cubby, she grinned. "Maybe. Hold onto your hat!"

~~O~~

If Steve had been wearing a hat, he'd have lost it on take-off. As she approached the VIP exit, Maria slowed down to a more reasonable speed, signaled and made the turn onto road that wound through a quaint area of town. When they reached the highway, she bumped their speed up well past the posted limit where they stayed until a motorcycle cop pulled them over.

"License, registration and proof of insurance please." The officer, mid- to late-thirties, African-American, lean and well-muscled, took the documents and turned to go back toward his vehicle, then stopped. "Maria Hill?"

"That's what it says, officer." Maria pulled her sunglasses down to get a closer look. "Seth Crawford? Still setting speed traps for the tourists, I see."

Seth scowled at her tone as much as her words. "Stay in the vehicle."

When he'd gone, Steve looked over at Maria. "You were going ninety-five in a sixty-five. That's hardly a speed trap."

"We went to high school together my senior year. He was a jock and a royal jerk because of it. Our relationship, if you want to call it that, started on a bad note, and went downhill from there."

They stopped talking when the crunch of footsteps on gravel came back in their direction. Seth held out the documents, still glaring. "Letting you off with a warning this time, Hill. Keep your speed down from now on."

"Do my best." She plucked the papers from Seth's hand and passed them to Steve. He put the registration and insurance in the glove box, and her license in the center consol. Seth signaled and pulled into traffic ahead of them.

On the road again, what good spirits Maria had bled away the closer they got to the neighborhood where she grew up. Suddenly, she pulled into the parking lot of a coffee house, screeching to a stop so hard that Steve's seatbelt locked, holding him in place. "Why are we here?"

"I need coffee before we beard the lion in his den."

They went inside, made their purchase and found a table. They'd only been there a few minutes when a wallet landed next to Steve's chair. He picked it up and turned to hand to an older man leaning on a fancy walking cane. The sixty plus man had silver hair and a penetrating blue gaze. In spite of his age, his back was straight though he walked with a slight limp.

Steve handed him the wallet with a smile. He nodded and pushed the expensive folded leather into his inside breast pocket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." Steve noticed that the man was no longer looking at him, but at his companion.

"Hello, Maria."

Her eyes locked onto the man's without flinching, though Steve saw how her fingers clenched on the cardboard cup. "Hello… Robert."

When the man smiled, Steve knew who he was.

"Want to introduce me to your friend?"

Maria's eyes dashed from Steve to the man and back. "Steve Rogers, this is Robert Hill. My father."

 **Vermont**

 **A Week Later**

In the days since their night at the bar, James hadn't been able to sleep. Natasha had asked him over and over what had happened, offering to be a sounding board. But how could he explain it to her when he didn't understand it himself?

They had continued with their daily routine though now there was tension between them that hadn't been there before, and James was at a loss to explain it. Inside his head, he saw two very different realities for himself. One the one hand, in some ways he was still the young soldier who followed his best friend into battle. And on the other hand was the deadly assassin, poised in the dark ready to pounce when given the word. If Natasha knew of the conflict he lived with every day, would she still be here with him, or would she have long ago left him alone?

From what Natasha had told him, and what he'd read online, Steve had made an easy transition from 1945 to the present. How? How did he live each day knowing what he'd lost? That everything and everyone he'd known was gone?

A memory came to him, a good one this time. He was in his Army uniform and Steve, as always, wore dull colored pants and jacket, a white shirt and black tie. They were with two girls, Connie and Bonnie. After the introductions, both women barely acknowledged Steve, though he didn't seem to mind as much as he had in the past. The foursome had taken the train to the Stark Expo where Steve once again tried to enlist.

James remembered hugging his best friend, the two of them exchanging friendly insults. James would call him a punk, and Steve would respond by calling him a jerk. It was a sort of ritual.

He snapped back to the present, listening to Natasha move around in the other parts of the cabin. Yes, she had helped him these months, and he was more than grateful. However, he could feel himself wanting more from her than friendship and mentoring. If they stayed here alone for too much longer, just the two of them, James was afraid he would do something that would damage that relationship, and her faith in him. At the moment, he didn't have enough friends that he could afford to alienate one.

What he needed wasn't here. Wherever Steve was, that's where he had to go, and Natasha would take him.

James joined Natasha in the kitchen, taking the knife and cutting up the vegetables as he'd been doing. She glanced at him, and went back to what she was doing as if these last days hadn't been a strain on both of them. When the food was ready, they sat at the table to eat, moving to the sofa afterwards to watch a movie.

Natasha chose something called _2001: A Space Odyssey_. His mind drifted soon after it started, and the next thing he knew, it was morning. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa again, and like before, she'd covered him with a blanket.

Her bedroom door was still closed and he didn't hear her in the bathroom. Going to the kitchen, he started the coffee, and peered into the refrigerator. On this day of the week, she usually made omelets, but the one time he'd tried, it had been a disaster.

He took out the food leftover from the night before and portioned it onto two plates. Behind him, he heard Natasha come out of her room. By the time he'd heated the food, she was at the table. He set a cup of coffee at each place and went back for the food.

Once again, they ate in silence, and he found he didn't like it as much as he had in the beginning when he was getting used to being around people again.

James waited until Natasha had finished eating to inform her of his decision. She got up and went to the sink with her dishes, and he did the same. As she turned to go, he took her hand. "Take me to Steve."

 **TBC**

 **A/N:** The story of Steve and Hill staying with her father will be detailed in a companion piece.

 _He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother_ is a popular music ballad written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.

 _Is There Life Out There_ is a song written by Susan Longacre and Rick Giles, and recorded by American country music singer Reba McEntire.


	15. Chapter 38

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 38**

James was so gentle with her, yet capable of great destruction, despite his assurance that he didn't want to kill again. If his instincts took over, it could mean disaster, but she didn't think it likely.

"When do you want to go?" Natasha asked quietly.

His eyes dropped to the floor as he thought it over. "Whenever you think is best. Will you call him?"

"Let's take a few days to get used to the idea." She looked down at their hands to find he was no longer holding her to keep her with him. He'd moved his hand so that their fingers were intertwined. When their eyes met again, he seemed to be searching for something. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she carefully released him and started the water to wash the dishes. "We'll revisit the subject this weekend. Until then, let's just continue with our routine."

He nodded, and picked up the towel used for drying. "Sparring tomorrow?"

"Yes." She rinsed a dish and set it in the drainer. James picked it up, dried it and moved around her to put it away, affording her a view of his back. His t-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, outlining the muscles, and bringing the scar around his prosthesis into stark relief, making her think of what could happen if their situation were different, if _they_ were different.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Natasha reminded herself that if everything had gone according to plan, she would still be young, while James would be Bucky, and in his nineties. Their chances of anything more happening between them other than playful flirting that neither would take seriously were so small as to be insignificant.

While her mind had been wandering, Natasha's hands stayed busy so that when James turned around, dishes were stacked in the drainer waiting to be dried and put away. For a moment, he gave her an odd look then continued with his task.

Natasha let the water out, cleaned the sink and went into the living room, plopping down on the end of the sofa with her knees up. She reached for her book, opened it to the marked page and began reading. Though she turned pages, she retained only some of the content. Instead, her mind was occupied with the reason behind James' sudden change of heart. Why now? What had changed? She wanted to know, but didn't think grilling him would get the answers she wanted. He was ready, and that's all that really mattered. There was also the possibility that he was going with a gut feeling. That worked too.

His footsteps crossed the living room floor, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitate before opening the door and going outside, as if he were waiting for her to join him.

Tossing the book aside, Natasha ran to her room for her boots and socks. She sat on the sofa to put them on, rushed to the door and jerked it open, mentally preparing herself for a short run to catch up. It turned out not to be necessary because James was standing at the top step leaning on the post. As she came to his side, he took the steps in one bound, shortening his longer stride to keep pace with hers, and together, they headed into the forest.

 **Hours Later**

Lying in bed, James stared at the ceiling, going over in his head the decision to finally meet with Steve. Natasha had been shocked, though she covered it well. With just each other for company all these months, he'd gotten to know her well enough to tell her moods and emotions with little or no physical clues. And he was certain she could do the same with him. She was, after all, an operative, an asset, just as he was, with one difference. Natasha had free will in choosing that life.

Some of his memories of being the Asset had resurfaced in recent weeks, though he didn't mention the fact to Natasha. Most weren't clear, just vague images that popped into his head at unguarded moments, like when he was sleeping or meditating. Before seeing Steve, James wanted to work on bringing some of those memories out into the open where he could see them clearly. The authorities for whom Steve and Natasha worked would want to question him. They would ask for names and dates, and would keep at him until they got them, even if it meant locking him up. Natasha had said on several occasions that she wouldn't allow that to happen, and he believed her.

Steve worked with Natasha, they were friends. Logically, that meant Steve would also provide protection. Not that James needed it. His skills would get him free, if anyone tried to make him a prisoner, but then he would be alone again. And he'd rather be a temporary captive than live on his own, but only if Steve and Natasha were his jailers.

There was another, as well. It had been his intervention that had gotten Steve and Natasha captured when he'd been sent to kill them. The man who could fly.

James watched the scene unfold on the helicarrier as he ripped one of the wings off, and the man dropped toward the ground like a stone, spinning in the air. To his relief, he also saw a parachute, allowing the man to land safely. One more person to whom he would have to make amends when they met again. One more added to an already lengthy list.

Another thought moved to take its place in line. It was something Natasha said on the way to dinner.

… _a man named Tony Stark._

Why did that name resonate so clearly in his memory? Natasha's quiet footsteps passed by his door to the bathroom. James had questions, and she would know the answers. He opened his door and waited for her to come out. She stopped upon seeing him, a question in her eyes.

"The man who could fly. What was his name?"

Her expression softened into what appeared to be affection. "Sam Wilson, or the Falcon, if you prefer."

James looked at his feet, crossed his arms and leaned on the door jamb. "Will he be there when we go back?"

"Undoubtedly. Why?" She closed the gap between them, wrapping her slender fingers around his arm. "He's alive, James. You didn't hurt him."

"I've killed and injured so many people to whom I will never be able to apologize. The more I remember, the longer the list gets. At least I'll be able to make amends to him."

Natasha gave a tug, and he let her hold his hand again. "None of it was your fault, James. You were brainwashed, drugged, and conditioned to obey orders. _HYDRA_ killed those people, not you."

"They used _me_ as the weapon. That makes it my fault."

"It's not the gun's fault when one person shoots another." With her free hand, Natasha covered a yawn. "I'm too tired to debate semantics tonight. Let's take this up again in the morning." She gave his hand one last squeeze and let go. "Back to bed, Bucky Barnes. Get some sleep."

"Stark."

At her door, she huffed and turned to face him again. "What about him?"

"I recognize the name."

" _Zavtra_. _Dobroy nochi_." She moved away from him, and a moment later, her door closed. Every night, he waited for the lock to click, but it never did. Not once, and it made him smile.

~~O~~

In her room, Natasha turned on her phone and sent a message to Clint to make discrete inquiries concerning Stark Industries and the possibility of a collaboration between Howard Stark and HYDRA. From what she heard about Tony's father from Steve and the man's involvement with the US government, it was unlikely that one of the founders of SHIELD had been working both sides of the street.

The phone clattered on the nightstand, she switched out the light, and pulled the covers up to her chest. Just as she was dozing off, the phone vibrated against the base of the lamp making a stuttering sound. She looked at the text from her partner, puzzled with his response.

 _Later. Need you here ASAP. A-1 priority._

Putting it down to one of Clint's practical jokes, Natasha responded, _Not in the mood tonight, Clint. TTYL_.

She was about to shut the phone off when it vibrated again.

 _We're sending in the clowns. Join us?_

Tossing the covers aside, Natasha sat on the side of the bed, her thumb tapping out a response. _Veshat lapshu na ushi?_

Clint's answer arrived within seconds. _Nyet, sestrenka._

" _Chyort voz'mi!_ "

 _Pick me up. Will send coordinates ASAP._

Going to the closet, Natasha reached for clean clothes. Clint never texted in Russian or called her "little sister" unless the situation were dire or was connected to the Avengers.

She had to leave tonight, and couldn't take James with her so the first order of business was to stock the food supplies with items that didn't require more than the microwave. The day he tried to make an omelet, she managed to get the fire out before the suppression system came on or the mess would've much worse.

But would he stay if she told him to, or would he insist on coming with her knowing she would likely be seeing Steve? If he stayed, and she were gone longer than expected, she would have to arrange a way to get food to him. No problem there. One of her contacts could be trusted to keep an eye on James while she was away. All he'd need was the codes to tap into the security system. James wouldn't even know or suspect he was being watched.

Because he relied on her for emotional support, she would video chat as often as possible. Hopefully, whatever the problem was, it would be solved quickly.

And what about the weapons? He couldn't have access to them while she was gone.

Then there was Internet access. Natasha went with limited access. Of course, she had no idea how deep his knowledge of computers went. For all she knew, he could hack the system on a level with Stark though she didn't see it as a strong possibility.

She finished getting dressed, hooked the duffle bag over her shoulder and left her room with the SUV keys in hand. Before she could get to the front door, James came out. He saw she was leaving, and ducked back into his room, coming out with his jacket, hat and shoes.

"Stay," she ordered in a no nonsense tone. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." He opened his mouth, and shut it again without asking the question. The door slammed, and shortly, she was on the road into town.

At the store, she grabbed a cart, and headed inside. Within thirty minutes, she'd filled it with enough frozen dinners, canned and boxed food to keep James well fed for at least a month, maybe longer. At the register, the cashier gave her a strange look. "Know something I don't?"

"What?"

He nodded at her purchases. "Looks like you're stocking up for an alien invasion or the apocalypse or something."

"Or something." Natasha hit him with a minor glare, passed over the cash, and returned to the SUV to unload the cart, then went to the convenience store next door for coffee.

She returned to the cabin to find James sitting on the porch waiting for her. He came to help her carry everything inside and help put it away. In the back of the laundry room was a freezer where she put the frozen dinners, and again, James followed her. "What's this for?"

Without even slowing down at her task, she told him the truth. "I have to go away for a while. Not sure how long. Everything I bought is easy to make without causing a fire or other disaster."

"Away?" His tone made her pause for a fraction of a second. "Where?"

"Can't say." The lid slammed closed, and Natasha turned toward the kitchen. James blocked her way. "I don't _know_. Clint sent a message that he needs my help. It's one I can't ignore."

Crossing his arms over his chest, James stood firm. "Take me with you."

Before he even finished the sentence, Natasha was shaking her head as she ducked around him. He dogged her all the way to the supply closet. "Don't know what I'm headed into, James. It could be dangerous."

"Then you _need_ me."

He watched her take out several weapons, including the Widow's Bites and the energy batons Stark had created for her, and stash them in a second duffle bag that would be locked in a hidden compartment on the SUV with the other weapons. When she turned around, he was blocking the doorway. As she moved toward him, he stepped aside.

Opening a hidden panel, Natasha typed in a code, and a heavy metal door slid into place, hiding the weapons from sight. She pressed her palm to a flat rectangle, and a green light scanned her fingerprints and DNA.

A mechanical voice spoke aloud. " _Identity confirmed._ "

"Commence lockdown procedure Yankee-victor-hotel-five-three-three."

" _Confirmed. Lockdown commencing in ten seconds_." The screen next to the scanner lit up, counting down from ten.

Natasha backed up until she ran into James. Belatedly, he moved out of the way again. When the countdown reached zero, the entire back wall sparked briefly then settled into a violet glow. She closed the door, explaining as she went into the bathroom for several personal items. "It's just a precaution, James."

"You don't trust me."

The tone of his voice, as if he'd lost something he'd never get back, made her feel bad. "It's not that. It's for your safety."

At the computer, she entered a code that basically changed the parental controls, but on a much higher level. It restricted where James could go, and what he could see and do. She took a sheet of paper and pen from the desk, and made a quick note. "If you need anything, email me at that address. But only in an emergency. If you run out of food or a tree falls on the cabin, etc. I can be here in a few hours. If you're injured and need to go to the hospital, call that number and say 'Poughkeepsie'."

James looked at the note, laid it on the desk, and followed her to the door. "I should go with you."

She inhaled, preparing to shoot him down, but couldn't do it. The look in his eyes was that of a frightened animal, one who'd been beaten too many times, yet was still afraid to be alone. Letting the air out, Natasha took a smaller breath. "You _can't_ , James," she said gently. He got that stubborn look in his eyes, similar, yet different from the first time he shot her. "I don't want to fight, _Malenkii_."

To her surprise, one side of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "Neither do I, _Malenkaya_."

Before she could move, he grasped her shoulders, and pulled her to him. His mouth covered hers, soft and tender, only meant to convey a message. When the initial shock wore off, Natasha's hands touched his waist, holding on briefly. Then, she pushed away, and they stood there for a moment, looking into each other's eyes.

James stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides. Natasha opened the door, glanced over her shoulder at him then stepped out and closed the door. In the car, she put everything else out of her mind, mentally preparing for the coming mission, whatever is was.

Natasha pulled into the convenience store for more coffee, and on the way back to the SUV, she sent a set of coordinates. Within seconds, Clint responded that he would pick her up in two hours. She tossed the phone into the passenger seat, and turned on Stark's favorite music, guaranteeing she wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel.

 **Stark Tower**

Lightning flashed through a midnight blue sky devoid of clouds, and moments later, Thor landed on the helipad of Stark Tower. As he descend the stairs, his red cape and armor transformed into less conspicuous clothing of jeans, boots and a light blue button-front shirt over a white t-shirt.

His first stop on his quest to locate Stark was the bar, but the lounge was empty. Rather than continue the search on foot, he chose a much quicker method. "Jarvis, where would I find Stark at this hour?"

" _He's in the lab, sir._ " There was a short pause. " _I've informed Mr. Stark of your arrival, and he'll be with you momentarily. Please avail yourself of food and drink while you wait._ "

Going behind the bar, Thor took out a bottle of beer, twisted the top off and drank the entire contents in one long draught.

By the time Stark arrived, the Asgardian was on his third beer and was devouring food he found in the refrigerator. "Ah, Stark. It's good to see you again."

"Wish I could say the same, Point Break." Thor came from behind the bar to take a seat on one of the tall chairs while his host poured a drink from a crystal decanter. "Every time one of your people comes to Earth, s*** happens."

"Unfortunately, it may be true this time as well." He took another drink, watching Stark take a bag of blueberries from the refrigerator and pop a few into his mouth.

Stark poured more of the amber liquid, taking a sip before going down to the sitting area. "Jarvis, ask Dr. Banner to join us."

" _Of course, sir."_

Within a few moments, the lift arrived, and Banner came down the stairs to join them with a smile, extending his hand. "Tony didn't tell me you were coming."

Stark made a sound of humor. Or it could be annoyance. Thor could never be certain.

"Didn't know. Like a stray puppy, he just showed up on my doorstep." Banner helped himself to a bottle of something called root beer then came to join them.

Banner took off his glasses and shoved them into a pocket. "What brings you here?"

"I've been tasked with locating and returning Loki's scepter to Asgard."

Stark stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. "I've had Jarvis working on it since you and your brother took off after the invasion. Nada."

"Nada? I do not know this word."

The hand holding his glass made a vague gesture. "It's Spanish for 'we're screwed'. There've been hints of its whereabouts, but nothing concrete." He tossed another blueberry into his mouth, speaking around the food. "Why did the Powers That Be of the seven realms wait so long to send you on this snipe hunt?"

Thor finished off the beer and set the bottle aside. "I have never hunted this snipe you speak of. As for why now, there are whispers across the realms of an impending event that could have disastrous consequences for all, including Midgard. The scepter is just one item that could aid in our understanding of these events. I do not wish to inconvenience you and the others, Stark. If you are unwilling or unable to help, I must continue the search on my own."

"You really know how to lay on a guilt trip, don't you?"

Jarvis spoke from all around them. " _Shall I contact the Avengers and invite them to attend, sir?_ "

Waving a hand, Stark dismissed the AI. "I'll do that myself. In the meantime, get their rooms ready, stock the pantries, etc." To Banner, Stark said, "Mind keeping him entertained while I make a few calls?"

"Not at all."

Without waiting for Banner's agreement, Stark disappeared into another part of the floor, leaving the two men alone. The man of science seemed uneasy in his presence. Or did until he spoke.

"How's Dr. Foster doing?"

"She is quite well since this latest incident with Loki."

Banner's smile turned sad. "Sorry to hear about your mother and brother."

"On Frigga's behalf, I thank you. However, Loki has returned from the dead more than once. I've not given up hope that he will do so again." Swallowing the last of the beer, Thor held the bottle up to the light, turning everything brown. "And what of your woman, Banner? Is she well?"

Banner choked on a blueberry, using the root beer to clear his throat. He wiped his mouth with a napkin before responding. " _My_ woman?"

"You and Natasha have been keeping company, have you not?"

"Um… Not in the way you mean, Thor. At least, not anymore." Banner looked away, and Thor knew that his friend didn't want to talk about the situation. Both men were saved from an uncomfortable silence when Stark returned, speaking to the air.

"… Cap'll be here in the morning with Hill in tow… They just got in from Chicago… Romanoff's number is disconnected, so it's up to you to get her here… Cap's orders… Back atcha, Legolas." Stark removed the comm from his ear and tossed it on the table. "We're assembling at 0700 for a breakfast meeting."

Getting to his feet, Banner covered a yawn. "I haven't slept in over a day. I'm gonna head off to bed."

Thor stood as well. "Good advice for all." He nodded to Stark, and followed Banner to the lifts.

 **Barton Farm**

The farm was so far out of town that the silence could sometimes be deafening. To Clint at least. He loved his family, and his home, but sometimes he needed noise that wasn't chickens, the tractor or a cow lowing. That's what made the call from Stark annoying and exciting at the same time. Annoying because it came in the middle of the night. Exciting because he was calling the Avengers to assemble at HQ.

Pacing on the porch, Clint reviewed the text from Nat asking him to make discrete inquiries regarding Stark's father's activities during, and immediately following the World War II.

He responded, and waited impatiently for a reply. Then, he used one of their private codes to get her attention. They corresponded back and forth, and soon, he received a set of coordinates in New Hampshire. He knew the area to be devoid of a human population making it unlikely that they'd be seen when he arrived to pick her up.

Whatever this new mission was, it would get done without Nat's help, but Rogers was big on team participation, so he'd done as Stark said, and invited Nat along for the ride. It was the whole team spirit thing their leader bought into. Clint had to admit Rogers had a point.

Easing the front door open, he tiptoed up the stairs to the room he shared with his wife. As quietly as possible, he packed his bag and set it by the door, adding the locked case holding his bow and quiver. He shoved a knife into each boot, and dropped the K-bar in with his clothes and Hawkeye costume, just in case they had to suit up.

He made his way down the hall, peeking into his kids' rooms, silently apologizing for taking off in the middle of the night yet again. Back in his room, he was tempted to let Laura sleep because she was always exhausted the first trimester of her pregnancy, but she wouldn't forgive him for not saying good bye.

Crouching next to the bed, Clint smoothed a hand over Laura's hair and touched her cheek. She blinked and sat up, switching on the bedside lamp. The light's glow showed a frown in place of her usual smile. "Duty calls?"

"Yeah."

Resigned, she exhaled loudly. "How long will you be gone this time?"

"Not sure. I'll call you before we head out. Maryellen will give you a hand, if you need it." He leaned forward at the same time Laura did, their lips touching in a soft and sweet kiss. "Love you."

"Love you too, Hawkeye."

Coming from his wife, the nickname sounded strange, making him chuckle. Standing, Clint held the covers up so she could put her legs in, pulling it up to her chest. He switched out the light, picked up his bag and case, and closed the door behind him.

The quinjet was hidden in a grove a trees not far from the main house, and he made the walk in record time. Nat had only given him two hours to meet her at the rendezvous point, and he would just make it. His best friend had been MIA for months, literally shacked up with a legendary assassin. And if she and that Barnes fellow had crossed the line, he would know the moment she stepped on board.

After picking up Nat, he'd fly down to D.C. to get Rogers and Hill. The newly minted couple had just come from spending two weeks with Hill's father, giving Rogers some interesting stories to tell. Though she wouldn't say so, Hill and Rogers had to be serious or she'd never have allowed him to plan the trip to Chicago. Hill herself hadn't been home for more than fifteen years. The last time she spoke to her father in person had been by accident ten years ago. He wouldn't have known except that he'd been there at the time.

Once in the air, Clint put the quinjet into stealth mode, and settled back for the ride. The autopilot would alert him ten minutes out from his first destination. Until then, he could get in a little nap.

 **Washington D.C.**

Steve and Maria had only been asleep for a couple of hours when they got the call from Stark telling them Thor was in town and needed their help. Barton called not long after with an ETA for his arrival. On his own, Steve would've gone for a long run to pass the time, but with Maria here, he set the alarm, spooned her against his chest, and went back to sleep.

Hours later, they quickly showered and dressed. Packing wasn't necessary because they hadn't unpacked from their Chicago trip. Steve merely added his uniform and shield.

Once on board the quinjet, Steve and Natasha had a stare down. And in that intense green gaze, he could see that she wouldn't be giving him any more answers now than she had via text and email. With a nod, he let her know that he respected her-and Bucky's-wishes, but only up to a point. She responded with a smirk and the lift of one eyebrow.

Maria saw the byplay and nudged him with her elbow. For the rest of the flight, Steve's attention was all on her. He knew he was-what did they call it? Being played. And he let her get away with it.

For her position as Junior VP of New Acquisitions, Maria wore a modest yet elegant blue dress and heels suitable for working in an office setting. She was due back at her desk at Stark Industries, and though Steve had been told to bring her, they wanted to keep the illusion that she worked solely for Stark alive as long as possible, in spite of her extracurricular activities with SHIELD.

Steve exited the lift on the lounge level with Natasha and Barton. The catering staff was already hard at work setting up for breakfast. He went to the coffee station and helped himself, standing and watching his teammates greet each other. After a couple of false starts, Banner and Natasha hugged.

Just before 0700, the team attacked the buffet tables, loading up their plates, and carrying them to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. Natasha sat on the end of the long sofa, and Banner, after a moment's hesitation, sat next to her.

Once their appetites had been appeased, Thor moved in front of the fireplace. "Many thanks to all of you for coming." His deep voice rumbled through the room. He drank from his cup and set it on the table. "The Infinity Stones are six immensely powerful gems, known by their respective powers and colors. Mind is blue, soul is green, power is red, space is purple, time orange, and reality yellow. It is believed that one of these stones may be a part of the scepter that Loki wielded in his quest to rule Midgard.

"It is rumored that Thanos is collecting the stones. His purpose is unknown at this time. However, it will likely not bode well for the realms…"

Banner raised his hand. "For those of us not up on our nine realms history, who is Thanos?"

"Thanos is one of the galaxy's most powerful and feared warlords. He rules over a region of space, having gained control over the Chitauri. He has forged several alliances in his quest to locate the stones. Loki was among the first of these alliances."

The expression on Banner's face changed from merely curious to uneasy as he reached for his cup. Steve didn't blame him. He felt apprehensive himself.

Thor paused while the scientist helped himself to a refill, glancing over his shoulder. "Sorry I asked, Thor. Please go on."

"Thanos hungers for more than just power. He is sadistic and cruel, even to his own daughters. He steals children to raise as assassins, forcing them to watch as he murders their families…"

Stark shifted in his seat next to Steve. "Stop right there, Point Break. You got us, hook, line, and sinker. Let's make plans for locating the scepter and making sure Thanos doesn't get his slimy hands on it."

Natasha spoke for the first time. "Exactly how do we do that, Stark?"

The billionaire pointed a finger at Natasha. "Haven't figured that out yet, but I will." He motioned to Banner, and the two men headed for the lifts by way of the buffet table where Stark piled more food on his plate. " _We_ will."

Left on their own, the rest of the team milled around. Natasha's eyes met Steve's. She lifted her chin telling him they needed to speak privately. He indicated the patio, and together they climbed the stairs.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Steve turned Natasha to face him. "You need to stop lying to me, Natasha. It's been months since the two of you boarded the train in Brooklyn. Tell me where Bucky is."

"Every time we've spoken, I've told you the truth. And if I did tell you where he is, what would you do?" Her head was tilted to the side, an indication that she already knew the answer.

Steve paced a few steps away to keep himself from shaking her in frustration. "I just want to talk to him for a few minutes." He rubbed the back of his head. "I know it was Bucky who rescued me after the helicarrier crashed. Just before I passed out, I saw him reaching for me. And when I woke up in the hospital, I was sure he'd be there."

He leaned on the railing, hands clasped together, and his head down. Natasha came to his side, and held his hand briefly. "If it were up to me, you _would_ be with him, but it's not. For seventy years, others have told him what to do, when to eat, when to sleep, who to kill. He's relearning, slowly, how to make his own decisions, and to control the instincts that HYDRA programmed into him.

"To say he's suffering from PTSD is putting it mildly. When we first got to the safe house, he awoke screaming nearly every night. The nightmares are coming less frequently now, but they're still intense, as are the flashbacks. He's afraid he'll hurt someone."

Concern drew Steve's eyebrows together. "Has he tried to hurt you?"

Shaking her head, Natasha looked off into the distance. "One night, I fell asleep on the sofa. I awoke to find him armed and standing guard. When I asked why, he said he wouldn't allow the _Einsatzgruppen_ to take me from him the way they had Isolde."

Steve inhaled and exhaled. "She was a woman he met a few days before…"

Natasha turned to lean her back against the railing, crossing her arms. "My research found that she'd been imprisoned by one of Hitler's mobile death squads and tortured for weeks because they thought she was collaborating with the enemy. She eventually died from her injuries. And it was all because someone had seen the two of them together, and knew he was American."

He wanted to ask questions, like if they were sleeping together, but it was none of his business. If she wanted him to know, she would've told him. As she stood beside him, the expression on her face said there was more to the story. "What _didn't_ you tell him?"

"The information I gave Barnes was carefully edited to eliminate all mention of the fact that, at the time of her death, Isolde was pregnant with his child."

"How do you know it was Bucky's? Men weren't the only ones who sought comfort when and wherever they could find it during the war."

The smug grin she flashed Steve was tinged with sorrow for the loss of a child Bucky would never know had existed. "I have resources, Rogers. Access to data that the FBI, the CIA and Homeland Security dream of when they go to bed at night. And those resources tell me that Isolde Gruber, of Leipzig, Germany had been raised in an orphanage by nuns. She'd been on her own for less than a month when she met Barnes."

"So she was…"

"A virgin. Yes." Natasha poked him in the side. " _You_ know what that's like."

Turning to face her, Steve leaned an elbow on the railing, matching her grin with one of his own, adding an arched eyebrow for effect. "Yeah, well, things change, Romanoff."

 **TBC**

 _Veshat lapshu na ushi_ = To tell someone lies, try to fool someone (literally, to hang spaghetti on his/her ears).

 _Zavtra_. _Dobroy nochi_. = Tomorrow. Good night.


	16. Chapter 39

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 39**

 **Stark Tower**

 **Later That Afternoon**

Used to being active, the four Avengers not working on the scepter dilemma had gathered in the lounge doing what they could to entertain themselves and each other.

At the moment, Clint was showing off his carnie skills by juggling and doing magic tricks. At one point, he'd even picked Rogers' pocket. He put the cards away and went to the bar for an iced tea. A beer would've hit the spot, but they had to be ready to go at a moment's notice.

Clint returned to the group, all four faces grinning. "What's going on? Na-at?"

Thor laid the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. "Natasha tells us that you have another extraordinary skill, Barton."

Rogers waved the hand holding a nearly empty glass of lemonade. "Said you wouldn't mind giving us a demonstration of your tumbling skills."

Natasha kicked her shoes off and curled her legs under. "Show us what you got, Clint."

"Always up for a challenge." Clint took off his jacket and stretched his muscles, warming up for the physical exertion. "With a few adaptations, tumbling can be used for free-running, though the official name is parkour. It's a training discipline that uses movement developed from military obstacle training. The goal is to get from one point to another in a complex environment without equipment to assist and in the most efficient way possible. That includes running, swinging, climbing, jumping, rolling, balancing, vaulting, and other movements suitable for the situation."

"From where did you acquire this training?" Thor asked, intrigued by Clint's explanation.

Clint cracked his neck. "The circus. High wire and acrobatics."

He chose the end of the bar as his starting point. Bringing the room's layout to mind, Clint mapped out his path. "Three… two… one…"

There wasn't enough room to get a good running start, so Clint did the next best thing. He jumped on the handrail for the stairs that went to the lifts and walked to the top, landed on the floor, jogged around the corner, leaped up on the rail and ran to the middle. Balancing on both feet, he gauged the distance and did a flip, landing on the seat of an armchair the next half-level down where the others were watching with rapt attention.

Clint bounced to the floor, dodged around the feet and legs of his friends, up a short flight of stairs, jumped on the bar, ran to the end and leaped into the air, catching the edge of the next level. Swinging his legs to gain momentum, he let go on the upswing, making another flip, and landing on the decorative incline next to another set of stairs. He slid to the bottom then climbed back up, running around to the right until he came to chairs stacked against the wall. Using the seat of one as a jumping off point, Clint flew through the air, catching his handhold just as the lift doors opened.

~~O~~

As Stark and Bruce reached the top of the stairs, Natasha glanced at Clint with a smirk. No doubt Stark would have a thing or two to say about her best friend's activities.

Stark's gaze wandered over the crowd. "Where's Barton? We have intel to impart. A mission is only minutes away."

Smirking, Natasha said, "Oh, he's hanging around."

"Where? We've got work to do."

As a group, Steve, Thor and Natasha pointed up. Stark tilted his head back, spotting Clint hanging from the enormous light fixture, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bruce took off his glasses, staring at Clint with his mouth open. "What the hell…"

Unfazed, Stark went to the bar and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale, opening it as he returned to the sitting area. "Wanna join us, Legolas?"

Clint adjusted his hand hold, got some momentum, and let go, making a flip and landing solidly next to Stark. He took the billionaire's drink, plopped down next to Steve and took a long swig. "I'm here. Let's get this party started."

Shifting his feet, Bruce replaced his glasses and tapped the screen of his tablet. "Do I even _want_ to know what that was all about?"

Shrugging, Clint crossed his knees. "Let's go with no."

"O-kay. Back to business then. With what we know about HYDRA from SHIELD's files, and making a few educated guesses, we have two possible locations." Bruce turned to Stark who took over.

"The problem with hitting one is, if the scepter isn't there, the other will know and they'll move it."

Steve got to his feet, arms crossed. "Then we hit 'em hard and fast. If the scepter's not there, we move on before they get a chance to give the next location a heads up."

"In theory, that works," Stark remarked. "In practice, not so much. We should hit them simultaneously. Coordinate the teams, and on Cap's mark, go in, sweep the place, and send their troops off to a secure SHIELD prison, so we can search at our leisure."

Clint shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "What if we come up empty? The bad guys'll be alerted to the fact that we're scepter hunting and we'll _never_ find it."

Bruce stepped forward. "These were just the first two locations we found. Jarvis is doing a sweep as we speak. We might come up with more locations by morning, or it could take weeks."

Steve huffed. "If that's the best we can do, let's go with it. In between raids, we'll go about our business, and regroup when the time comes for the next one."

Looking over Bruce's shoulder, Stark pointed to something on the screen then returned his attention to the group. "The first two locations on our list are here in the states."

"Good." Steve's stern gaze swept the group. "Suit up."

~~O~~

Hours later, Natasha opened the door of her suite in Stark Tower, stripped off her gloves and widow's bites, and laid them on the dresser on her way to the bathroom. While the water was running for a bath, she got undressed and hung her suit in the closet, all the time wondering how James was handling his first night alone at the cabin.

He'd been on his own before they joined forces, so if she had to guess, she'd say he was doing okay. Just to be sure, she would video chat with him for a few minutes before going to bed.

Thirty minutes later, Natasha was out of the tub and in her pajamas. Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, she yawned at her reflection, and went to sit on the side of the bed with the covers pulled back. It only took a few seconds to connect with the computer in the cabin, and she was looking at James' concerned face. "Hi."

He nodded a greeting. " _You look tired_."

"I _am_ tired." Lifting the covers, Natasha swung her feet under and moved the pillow to support her back. "Do anything interesting on your first day alone?"

One shoulder went up and down. " _Went for a run, watched a movie, had lunch and dinner. You?_ "

"Helped out some friends. I may be back sooner than I thought." She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. "The situation Clint called about is flexible."

" _What does that mean? Flexible?_ "

Smiling at his confusion, Natasha explained, "It means I may have to be gone for a few days here and there, but I'll be around to break up the monotony of your day."

Again, one shoulder shrugged. " _I'm not bored._ "

She snorted a laugh. "Guess you don't miss me as much as I thought."

He looked down then back to her. " _I_ _do_ _miss you, Natasha_."

Touched that he thought of her, she smiled. "James…" There was a knock, light, as if the person wasn't sure if she were awake. "Someone's at the door. I'll call again tomorrow. Should know by then when I'll be back. Bye."

Natasha pressed the end key and set the phone aside as she went to answer the door. Bruce was standing there, unsure if that's where he really wanted to be. "Um, hi."

So not a strong lead-in, but she could work with it. "Hi." He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit he'd never been able to stop. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes." His mind didn't seem to be on the conversation. "No." He took a deep breath, and his expression turned sheepish. "To tell the truth, I'm not sure _why_ I'm here."

She stood back so Bruce could come in and closed the door. The attraction she felt from the first time they met in that rundown shack in Calcutta was still there. And though their reasons for the mutual break-up a few months ago seemed logical at the time, Natasha wondered what would've happened had they stayed together.

Taking his hand, Natasha led him over to sit on the foot of the bed. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me." She squeezed his hand when he hesitated. "We agreed to stay friends. And friends can tell each other anything, Bruce."

His eyes searched her face, unsure what he was looking for. Bruce released her hand to trail his fingers up her arm, lingering on her bare bicep before sliding into her hair, his palm warm against the curve of her jaw, and the side of his thumb grazing her cheek. She closed her eyes and inhaled his natural fragrance. Clean, fresh, earthy, with an underlying scent of sweat and linen.

Natasha leaned toward him, closing her eyes as their lips made contact, the warmth of his mouth sending a small thrill through her. The same, yet different than when they'd done this before.

Giving in to the urge to push the boundaries, she let Bruce deepen the kiss. He moved in front of her, exerting just enough pressure to get her to lie down. He came down half on top of her, his chest pressing against her ribs, generating a feeling of safety and caring, fanning that small spark into a flame.

Using her elbows and feet, Natasha inched up to the pillows, and Bruce willing followed. Taking her in his arms again, one knee slid between her thighs while they kissed.

He groaned when Natasha dug her nails into his back. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pulled it free of his pants, pushing her hands under the material and up to his shoulders so she could feel his skin. Nearly lost in sensation, her right hand dragged over his left shoulder blade, searching the scar that wasn't there.

Bruce whispered in her ear, dousing the spark with cold water. Natasha wanted to growl in frustration. She pulled her hands from under his shirt, using the heels of her hands to push him back so she could see his face.

Puzzled, he frowned at her. "What?" The first few buttons of Bruce's shirt had come open affording her a view of the tuft of dark hair that peeked above the white t-shirt he wore underneath. He rolled to the side, flopping down next to her.

"Well, when a man calls a woman by another woman's name while they're…"

He looked away while his hands buttoned his shirt. Huffing in frustration, he lay beside her with their shoulders touching. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"Just now, while we were kissing, you called me Helen." Rolling onto her side, head propped on her hand, Natasha grinned. "So, you and the ice queen, huh?"

~~O~~

Debating with himself for all of three seconds, Steve decided it was time for Natasha to start giving him straight answers about Bucky. The problem with asking pointed questions of a career assassin was he could never be absolutely certain if she was telling the truth or lying to his face.

To keep their conversation private, Steve chose to confront his teammate in her room rather than one of the common areas that were monitored and recorded. If the time came that they needed Stark's expertise in handing this case, Steve would read him-and the others-in himself. Until then, only Steve, Natasha and Barton had need-to-know.

He was about to knock on Natasha's door when it opened from the inside. Banner was on his way out, tucking the back of his shirt in as he went. For a moment, the scientist looked guilty. He looked at Steve and back to Natasha. "We'll talk later, Tasha."

"There's nothing to talk about, Bruce. I'm happy for you." She gripped his hand briefly. "Take care."

The scientist eased past Steve and walked quickly in the direction of the lifts. Aiming a thumb over his shoulder, Steve asked, "Did I interrupt something?"

Natasha smiled and opened the door wide, inviting him in. "No."

She crossed her arms and waited for him to speak. Belatedly, she nodded for him to take a seat on the small sofa in the sitting area that looked out over the Manhattan skyline just as Steve's did, though his faced more toward Brooklyn. "What's going on with you and Bucky?"

"What do _you_ think's going on?"

Frustrated that she'd turned the question back on him like she always did, Steve sat back in his seat, one arm over the back of the chair. "If I knew the answer, I wouldn't have to ask. The two of you have been alone together in the safe house for months. You won't tell anyone where it's located and even Jarvis hasn't been able to track your phone or IP address. And you've only communicated with one of the team if you needed something."

She smiled in that way she had when she was about to one-up him. "Steve Rogers, are you jealous?"

Taken aback by the question, Steve was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Your best friend prefers _my_ company to _yours_. Tell me that doesn't piss you off…" she pinched a centimeter of air, "…just a little."

Conceding the point, Steve nodded. "More than a little. If anyone understands what's happening to him, it would be me. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. We both supposedly died at the hands of HYDRA in 1945, and were resurrected seventy years later, yet he came to _you_ for help."

" _He_ didn't come to _me_. _I_ went to _him_." Natasha sat on the coffee table facing him. "Steve, everything that happened to you, the serum, crashing the plane, it was _your_ _choice_. You were given full disclosure of the possible side effects of your choices. You even gave up a life with the woman you loved, sacrificed yourself so that millions of people would live. I heard the recording. You said…"

"I know what was said. I was _there_ , remember?"

"Bucky wasn't given that courtesy. Zola and his people made him a virtual slave. They experimented on him, turned him into the Winter Soldier. They forced him to commit unspeakable acts that the Bucky you knew would find abhorrent. They drugged and conditioned him to forget everything about his life and the good man he was just so they could someday achieve world domination. HYDRA's no better than Loki. Their plans were just more long-term."

Steve admitted Natasha had a point. "And Loki had an alien army on his side. None of which is relevant to my original question. Why _you_ and not the one person in this world who knows him better than anyone else? Why not let us take him to professionals, people who know how to reverse the things that were done to him?"

"And be studied and experimented on again?" She shook her head. "He-and I-won't let that happen. He trusts me because…" she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, "…we're the same."

Getting to her feet, Natasha went to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She could've been searching the sky for a particular star, or using the time to gather her thoughts.

Steve went to stand behind her, their reflections in the glass making it appear almost intimate. "How? _How_ are you the same?"

When she spoke, her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. "After my parents died in a house fire, I was sent to an orphanage. Dr. Petrovich and Madame B came one day a few weeks after I arrived. When they left, I and two others went with them." She laughed humorlessly. "They referred to it as 'recruiting' us into the Black Widow program where we were trained as spies and assassins."

Seeing how difficult it was for Natasha to verbalize something so personal, Steve stayed quiet, offering comfort by his presence.

"So you see, Bucky's not the only one who didn't have a choice in what he became. I am what they made me to be."

He wanted to let her know she wasn't alone, that she could rely on him as a friend. "But you don't have to _be_ that person, Natasha. You can walk away."

"And do what? Become a soccer mom, drive a minivan, go to church on Sundays, and vacation in the Poconos?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

In the window's reflection, her eyes met his. "That's not an option when you can't have children, Steve."

His hand touched her shoulder, turning her to face him. He held her close until she pushed out of his arms. If Natasha were anything less than the woman she was, he would've expected to see tears, but there were none. Briefly, he wondered what it would take to make her cry. Then decided he'd rather not know.

"I have the option of doing or being something else, but like or not, the Black Widow is who I am. The only difference between Bucky and me is he wants more for himself than to be an assassin. He wants a life that isn't defined by death and destruction.

"The Red Room turned me into the person you see, and that's all I'll ever be." Steve stepped away from the window and Natasha followed him to the door. "Just let it go for now. I'm too tired to argue."

Nodding, he stepped into the hall and faced her again. "Good night."

Natasha waved, and was about to close the door when Barton came from the other direction. Steve kept going, ignoring the sound of their voices speaking in Russian. From the tone, Natasha was _not_ happy.

~~O~~

As Steve walked away, Natasha turned a glare on Clint, switching to Russian. "Is this Pick on Widow Night and no one told me?"

Clint looked around as if she were talking to someone else. "June 28th."

She nodded, knowing what the date meant. Clint wouldn't explain where they might be overheard, and she knew he'd be too excited to wait.

"How you doing?"

Gritting her teeth, she stopped just short of growling as she went back into her room and he followed. "Fine. Just peachy."

He waved a hand. "I believe you." Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he watched her brush her hair. "Rogers still trying to get the skinny on Barnes?"

"Yes. And no, I won't tell you where he is."

"Not my circus, not my monkey." Crossing his arms, Clint looked at her curiously. "Who shot you down?"

She paused in her task then started again. "What's makes you think…"

He pointed at her head, and the wrinkled covers on the bed. "When I walked up, you had sex hair. Rogers is with Hill, and he's not the cheating type. So my guess is it had to be Banner you were doing the mattress mambo with."

"Wasn't doing _anything_ with _anyone_ , _eblan_."

Clint appeared behind her in the mirror. She handed him the brush and he took over brushing. "You're lips say no…" he leaned close enough to sniff her, "…but my nose says you're lucky that liar's pants don't actually catch on fire."

Natasha snatched the brush from his hand, brandishing it like a weapon. "I talked to Bruce then Steve, and now you. It's like my room has a revolving door. And nothing! Happened! Now get! Out!"

Unsuccessfully suppressing a smirk, Clint backed out into the hall, holding his hands up. "Whatever. It's no big deal to _me_ if you wanna hang spaghetti from your own ears." He ducked when she lobbed the brush at him. It bounced off the wall across from her door and landed on the floor.

With her jaw clenched, Natasha shouted, "Jarvis!"

" _What can I do for you, Agent Romanoff?_ '

Natasha closed her door and engaged the lock. "Put out the do not disturb sign until 0700. No calls, no texts, no IMs, and especially no one knocking on my door unless it's a genuine emergency."

" _As you wish, miss._ "

She crawled into bed, flipped out the light, and lay there with the covers pulled up to her chest, staring at the ceiling.

 **Vermont**

 **The General Store**

One man sat on a stool, using his knife to carve a piece of wood while the other had his eyes glued to the television. Both men were dressed as if they'd just come from hunting and smelled like it too. Battered caps that would never be thrown out because they were "lucky", vests, flannel shirts, jeans and steel-toed boots. Their hands were calloused and dirt stained from years of manual labor, the nails chipped and broken.

The whittler's name was Tommy Lee, and his best pal since forever was called Woody.

Tommy Lee ran the hunting supply part of the store, and was the more charismatic of the two, which wasn't saying much. Not surprisingly, both were single and probably would be for life considering the lack of gullible women who lived in the area, and the disproportionate amount of time they spent tending to the needs of their doting mothers.

Holding the chunk of wood up to the light, Tommy Lee ran a thumb over the grain, working out his next move. Carving animals from wood was a hobby that netted him a pretty penny from the tourists who happened into the store. He looked up when Woody nudged him with an elbow.

"Look, Tommy." Woody pointed at the television showing a grainy video of one of the biggest news stories in the last six months: the destruction of the SHIELD headquarters in D.C. One video in particular had caught his eye. He paused the playback. "Don't she look like that pretty little redhead what comes in here every couple of weeks?"

His attention diverted from the carving, Tommy Lee squinted at the screen. "Hair's not the same, but yeah, it kinda looks like her. What of it?"

"And that guy she comes in with sometimes?" Woody went to the television, indicating a figure standing next to a burning car, aiming a gun at the man holding the red, white and blue shield. "If they tried to kill Captain America, and aren't in jail, then they're probably fugitives with a price on their heads."

"Makes sense, Woody." In addition to his charm, Tommy Lee also had smarts. Practically a genius compared to present company. "If they're on the lam, then it stands to reason."

Nodding, Woody came back to his friend's side. "Yup. So where you reckon they're hidin' out?"

Shrugging, Tommy Lee adjusted his cap. "Always heads north on four toward Mendon when she leaves."

Woody scratched at a spot on his chest. "Yeah. Followed her as far as Meadow Lake Ridge once. Then I remembered Momma wanted me to pick her up at The Bear Trap."

Tommy Lee slipped the knife into its sheath on his belt and set his carving aside. "Lots of cabins off the paved roads. What say we check 'em out? I can get Leroy or Wade to watch the counter."

"You wanna go _tonight?_ "

The wood carving fell over, and Tommy Lee automatically righted it. "Let's start tomorrow after lunch. That's my slow time."

 **Two Days Later**

Having parked some distance away so their approach wouldn't be noticed, Tommy Lee and Woody crouched behind a fallen tree watching the cabin. There was no vehicle parked in front, but the smoke from the chimney said someone was at home.

Hefting his hunting rifle, Woody indicated that he would circle around to the other side to check it out. A few minutes later, he was back. "Couldn't see in the windows, and the SUV's not 'round back or in the shed."

Tommy Lee huffed in frustration while rubbing his hands together to warm them. The day was sunny, with a chilly wind signaling winter was on the way. "Whoever's in there has gotta come out sometime. Let's give 'em a couple hours then call it a day. Then we can check out one more before suppertime."

The men took turns watching and waiting for some sign. Half way into the second hour, they were rewarded for their patience when the front door opened and the woman's companion came out. He dragged a moderately sized chunk of wood from the side of the cabin to the chopping block, making short work of preparing it for the fireplace.

In his baggy long sleeved shirt, the man looked scrawny, early thirties, long hair. Keeping his voice low, Tommy Lee told his pal, "We can take him easy."

Woody agreed. "What about givin' Fenris a call? He'd come down here with a couple of his deputies and round him up."

Shaking his head, Tommy Lee fished a piece of jerky from one of the pockets of his hunting vest. "And let them get the reward and take all the credit? No, thanks. We're gonna be rich _and_ famous. And I don't wanna share." He shoved the jerky in his mouth, sucking on it to make it soft enough to chew.

Their quarry gathered an armload of the wood and went back inside. Not long after, the smoke from the chimney thickened indicating he'd added to the fire.

"How long you reckon we should wait?"

Shrugging, Tommy Lee pushed the jerky into the left cheek. "About thirty minutes or so. Give him time to fall asleep watching the tube. Then we'll waltz in, tie him up, march him down to the sheriff's office, and collect our reward."

 **Stark Tower**

Steve leaned in the doorway, watching Natasha pack her bags, his expression dark and baleful. "Why does Barton get to know where you're going, but you won't tell me?"

Natasha zipped the bag with her clothes and dropped it on the foot of the bed with the other one. "Because Clint is the pilot. And he doesn't know where the safe house is. Just the rendezvous point."

He followed her up to the helipad where Barton and the idling quinjet waited patiently for their lone passenger. Standing at the bottom of the ramp, Steve contemplated forcing the issue by getting on board and refusing to leave. "Barton…"

Without turning his head, the archer put on his headset and started the takeoff checklist. "Save your breath, Rogers. There's nothing you can say or do to get me to narc on Nat."

Taking a step back, Steve watched the ramp close on Natasha smug grin, knowing she was right. Barton would go to his grave with a secret, if that's what was asked of him.

He stared at the sky long after the quinjet had disappeared. Over the sound of wind whipping around the uppermost deck of the Stark Tower Steve heard someone cross the tarmac and come to a stop beside him. A quick glance verified that his companion was Maria.

"Told you."

A long, hard exhale deflated his lungs. "And you were right."

She snorted, and together they jogged down the stairs. "And what have you learned from this?"

Inside the lift, Maria stood with her back straight, hands clasped behind her back, and chin up, her eyes fixed on the digital display as the car descended into the bowels of Stark Tower. Her military bearing was mitigated by the fact that she was wearing a form-fitting deep purple dress, black heels and a black jacket. He called it her corporate disguise.

Reaching past her, Steve entered his override code and the lift came to a stop. He swept her into his arms, holding her tight. "I've learned that Maria is always right." Their lips were about to touch when he added, "Except when she's wrong."

She made a scoffing sound that cut off when he claimed a kiss.

 **Vermont**

The life-long pals crossed the porch to the front door without making a sound. They listened for a moment, and Tommy Lee nodded, holding up three fingers. Woody grabbed the knob, and when Tommy Lee's third finger curled into his fist, the door was pushed open, the men bursting into the cabin, weapons and eyes scanning the room, finding it empty. The man they'd planned on capturing wasn't there. They moved into the center of the room, seeing nothing that would tell them where he'd gone.

Woody motioned to the hallway door that led to the bedrooms, and Tommy Lee nodded. They'd only gone a few feet when they heard the thump of boots on the wood floor behind them.

"Tommy Lee?" Woody's voice wavered slightly on the end. He was as brave as the next man, but the thought of someone getting the drop on them scared him spitless.

"Yeah?"

"You reckon this was a bad idea all around?"

His friend made a slow nod. "Yup." Holding the rifles at the ready, they turned around fast. The man they'd been watching stared at them with cold eyes. This close, they could see he wasn't armed. Relieved, Woody aimed his rifle at the middle of the man's chest at the same time Tommy Lee raised his weapon and motioned to the dining room chair. "Looks like we're in charge here, son, seeing as you're unarmed and all. Have yourself a seat, and once my friend Woody's got you tied up nice and tight, we'll give the sheriff a call to come get you."

The man seemed to think it over, then pierced them with a hooded gaze. "No."

Tommy Lee laughed out loud. "I don't think you understand, _pal_. That wasn't a request. Was it, Woody?"

"No siree, Bob." Woody motioned with the end of his rifle. "Now get on over there. Me and my friend know all about you. Tried to kill Captain America, you and that sweet young thing you been shakin' up with."

One side of their prisoner's mouth turned up as he tilted his head to the side, though he did sit in the chair, somehow making it seem like it had been his idea all along.

The friends exchanged a look of confusion when he slumped down on his spine. Slowly, as if to increase the tension, he rolled his left sleeve up to the elbow showing an artificial arm made out of metal.

Woody gasped, and the end of his rifle started to shake. "Wh-what the hell…?"

His eyes wide with fear, Tommy Lee pulled out a Taser and shot their prisoner. He moved his arm, and the leads snapped and crackled on the surface of the metal. He got to his feet, flexing the metal hand as if it hurt.

Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He pulled the leads from the surface of his arm, clenched the metal hand into a fist, and swung the arm in a circle at the shoulder joint. His head went to one side then the other, cracking each time. The slump of his shoulders and spine straightened as his chin came up, and the gaze he leveled on them said he was pissed.

Woody backed up a step, and Tommy Lee followed. Their former prisoner moved faster than they thought possible, knocking the weapons from their hands. The friends lost what little courage they had and turned to run, tripping over the rug, and each other, and landing in an undignified heap. They rolled onto their backs as the other man stood over them, and smiled unpleasantly.

 **TBC**


	17. Chapter 40

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 40**

 **New Hampshire**

Natasha stood beside the SUV, shading her eyes with one hand as she watched the quinjet take off. Clint banked around toward the south, waggling to let her know he'd seen her then engaged the cloak as he aimed for D.C.

Taking out her phone, she sent James an email to let him know she was on her way, and got into the SUV, using the GPS to find her way back to the road.

 **Vermont**

Once again, she stopped at the general store to get coffee and gas up the SUV. With both tanks full, hers and the vehicle's, she was ready for the last leg of her journey.

By the time Natasha was back on the road, she'd become concerned at not hearing from James. He usually responded within an hour at the most. The email had been sent more than two hours ago, and nothing yet.

As she pulled off the paved road onto the gravel path to the cabin, she came upon a battered and muddy four-by-four partially hidden. Peering in the windows, she saw two cardboard cups, beer cans, fast food bags, and other unidentifiable human detritus. She started her search of the interior by taking the lid off one of the cups, and sniffing. It was fresh, or had been several hours ago. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the driver and passenger had made it their business to stick their noses into something that that could get them killed.

Natasha pocketed the keys, and returned to the SUV. She opened the rear hatch, and lifted the false floor, revealing a hidden compartment. Pressing her thumb on the scanner, she waiting for the beep then entered her code. A panel slid back to show the compartment was filled with weapons, including her Widow's Bites and batons. Because dead bodies attracted the cops the way honey attracted bees, she chose a lesser of the evils. From another compartment she took a pair of special rings, slipping one on each hand.

Creeping through the forest, she made her way to the cabin, stopping within the tree line to observe. A few minutes after she arrived, the front door opened and James came out. He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and sat on the top step, his eyes roaming over the landscape as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Were the men still hiding out, waiting for an opportunity to attack? Or had they already done so and James had defended himself in the only way he knew how?

Natasha stood up and walked into the clearing. Upon seeing her, James got to his feet, his eyes tracking her as she approached. When she got near, he said, "We have company."

"I saw." Her eyes flicked to the partially open front door and back to James. "What happened?"

He opened the door, silently inviting her in. Dreading what she might see, she climbed the steps and James moved out of the way to let her pass. She stepped over the threshold, holding in a chuckle at the sight.

Two men in their late thirties had been stripped down to their wife-beaters, tighty-whities, and socks, and tied up. The rest of their clothes were folded and stacked on the seat of the armchair. Two pairs of boots sat next to it.

The dark haired man with the receding hairline had a tattoo on his left arm: Born to Hunt, Forced to Work, and a drawing of a buck with the antlers entwined through and around the lettering. The blonde had a farmer's tan, the biceps glaring white compared to the darkness of his forearms.

The men had been struggling with their bonds, but froze when they saw Natasha standing just inside the door not even trying to hide her amusement. She walked over to glare down at them. "As you've probably figured out, we're not fond of uninvited guests."

She backed up to James' side, and gave a nod. He moved over to the men, using his left arm to turn them onto their backs before returning to her side, feet shoulder width apart, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

Nodding to the blonde, Natasha raised her chin. "Name."

"Tommy Lee, ma'am."

She turned to the other one. His dark hair and eyes indicated a Native American background. He rushed to respond before she asked, "Woody. What're you gonna do with us?"

The glare she turned on them was meant to intimidate, and it did. "First off, my friend here's going untie you. Then, you're going to get dressed, and tell us why you've invaded our privacy."

Confused, the men looked at each other, then at Natasha. Tommy Lee started when James easily lifted his two-hundred plus frame off the floor and untied his hands. He took the stack of clothes James handed him, putting his pants on as he talked. "We was watchin' a special report on that shi… I mean situation that went down in D.C. In one o' the videos, we saw you and _him_ tryin' to kill Captain America."

Natasha rolled the information around in her head, and turned to Woody. "Is that what you saw?"

"Yes, ma'am. Clear as day."

She and James exchanged glances, communicating silently as he untied Woody. After both men were dressed, James directed them to sit on the sofa then joined Natasha when she motioned him over.

Bending close, Natasha lowered her voice to a whisper loud enough for the men to hear without making it obvious, letting her tone and expression do the work. "They've seen us. They know who we are."

"What's the plan?" James replied uncertainly.

"There are lots of places in these woods where the bodies will never be found." James looked dubious and concerned at the same time. To keep him from giving away her true plan, Natasha backed up and quickly crossed the room to stand behind and between the two men. "Sorry boys. Doesn't look like you'll be making it home for dinner tonight, or any other night. Not that I _want_ to do this, you understand, but we can't take a chance that you'll go to the cops."

When she turned to speak to James, he was standing in front of her, angrier than she'd seen him since their fight in the streets of D.C. He grabbed her arm just tight enough to keep her from leaving. And in that grip, she felt his determination. "I _won't_ let you kill them," he told her in Russian.

Dropping her eyes to his hand on her bicep and back to his face, one eyebrow arched. James took the hint and let go, but didn't back down. "Sorry to break it to you, but this isn't your operation. I'm in charge, and we're doing this _my_ way."

Before Tommy Lee and Woody could so much as turn their heads, Natasha pressed a button on the rings she'd taken from the SUV. A tiny needle popped out of each, which she pressed against the sides of their necks. Within seconds, they were knocked out. She pulled the rings off, dropped them in the top drawer of the desk, and pushed it closed.

Taking the keys from her pocket, she tossed them to James. He caught them automatically, his expression telling her he was angry and disappointed at her handling of the situation.

"Go get their vehicle."

"And then?"

She turned her back on him in a way that told him the conversation was at an end. "We're taking them for a drive."

~~O~~

When Natasha and James returned from driving their uninvited guests back to town, he was pleasantly surprised to find that she thought to bring him more clothes. A jacket, gloves, a couple of hats, flannel shirts, long sleeved t-shirts, thermal wear, jeans, socks, shoes, and men's unmentionables.

Tucked in with everything else, James found a faded blue t-shirt with a picture of Steve's shield on the front. He tried not to think about the fact that he was ready to see Steve, but couldn't until the current crisis was over. When that would be, Natasha couldn't say. At the moment, she was on the computer. He tried to read over her shoulder, but all her communications were in what looked like Italian. A few words stood out to him, giving him an idea of the plans she was making for them.

Natasha was in touch with one of her contacts, making arrangements for them to leave their current location and travel to another, though where, they hadn't yet discussed. James knew they had to go, and soon.

Going into his room, James took the duffle bags from the closet and started filling them with his belongings. With that done, he went to the other room and dropped the bags on the floor by the front door. Natasha looked up at the sound, and he merely shrugged.

The drugs she'd given Woody and Tommy Lee may not work for long. Eventually, they would remember, if not everything, then enough to take their concerns to the authorities. If they were captured, he would most likely be locked away, studied, experimented on again. The thought filled him an unidentifiable emotion, one that made him want to run and hide. He trusted Natasha to get them out of this, or he'd have taken off, even if it meant being alone again.

Not knowing how much longer Natasha would be working, James took it upon himself to make another pot of coffee. He was hungry, but that could wait. The scent of the coffee drifted across the room, and soon, Natasha was sniffing the air. He took the hint and brought her a cup. She graced him with a distracted smile, and went back to work.

~~O~~

Natasha finished her work, and shut down the computer. She picked up her cup and found it empty. Her eyes made a quick sweep across the room, but James wasn't there. The bags he'd dropped by the front door were gone as well. Had he left on foot while she was arranging the next leg of their trip?

Then she heard the muffle thump-thump of sneakers on the porch. Pacing meant he was restless, anxious to be moving. She rushed into her room, and quickly packed her things.

In the living room, Natasha set her bags on the sofa, and turned in a circle, determining that they had everything they needed. The rest was replaceable with just a phone call, email or text.

Going to the supply closet, she accessed the security controls, entered her code and pressed her hand to the scanner.

 _Identity confirmed._

With a few keystrokes, she armed the self-destruct, and set the timer.

 _Self-destruct will commence in fifteen minutes._

Before the timer reached the thirty second mark she'd picked up her bags and was out the front door. James turned as the door slammed behind her. " _Toropit'sya!_ We have fifteen minutes to get as far from here as possible."

They threw their bags into the back seat, got into the front, and were on the road in less than two minutes. Once on the paved road, Natasha floored it until they were nearly thirty miles over the posted speed limit. She had no worries that they'd be stopped. The deputies seldom came this far out.

A few minutes later, there was rumble, and when she looked in the mirror, a black cloud shot up into the sky. There were no worries that it would catch the forest on fire. The last few weeks had left the ground and trees wet almost to the point of being saturated. Not to mention that the possibility of the safe house being destroyed had been taken into account during construction. A wide "fire-break" had been created around the main building.

When the fire was put out, an investigation would show nothing that wouldn't normally be found in an isolated cabin. And if any trace of weapons was found, it would be assumed that they were for hunting.

Natasha's eyes met James' with a smile. "Ready for a road trip?"

"Where are we going?"

"West. We have to make a stop to trade out this vehicle for another on the way."

James faced forward in his seat. "Won't the police be able to track our fingerprints and the vehicle?"

With a smirk, she made a left turn toward town. If they just up and disappeared after the explosion, it would look suspicious. But if they hung around at least for the evening, and didn't appear to be in a hurry to leave, no one would think twice about their absence. "Yes. Yes, they will. The VIN will show that it was reported stolen in Casper, Wyoming over a year ago. Our fingerprints will be memorable for belonging to a couple who died in a car accident in Pinole, California in 2013. Should leave them with quite a mystery."

From the corner of her eye, Natasha watched James stare out the front window with a thoughtful expression. If he had questions, he would ask them when he was ready.

As they reached town, Natasha checked around for their uninvited guests, and saw that the vehicle was now parked in front of the sheriff's office.

She pulled into the Second Chance just as fire trucks and sheriff's vehicles came roaring past with sirens and lights going. Before they got out, she touched James on the arm. "If anyone asks, we're driving to Queensbury to visit family."

"Where are we _really_ going?"

"Queensbury. That's where we'll make the vehicle exchange."

James nodded as he got out, meeting her in front of the SUV. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "What if Bethanne is here?"

This would be a learning experience for James, being forced to face up to someone that he'd embarrassed. One side of her mouth turned up in a sympathetic smile. "Go up to her, smile and apologize for being a jerk. She may or may not slap you. If she does, take it like a man. Whatever you do, don't even think of hitting her back. If she accepts your apology, thank her, and come back to the table."

"Should I speak to her alone?"

"Not this time. You embarrassed her in front of her friends. The apology should be in public too." His expression spoke of doubt. So, as they reached the door, Natasha gave him an encouraging smile. "You can do this, James. I believe in you."

 **The Bear Trap** **Restaurant**

 **That Morning**

Sheriff Fenris Pineda pulled into the parking lot of the Trap, stopping next to the dirty, beat up four-by-four. He'd known Tommy Lee and Woody since they were kids. They weren't the sharpest crayons in the box, and today was proof. Nina Lutz, owner of the restaurant, called when she arrived to get the prep work started for the breakfast crowd, and found Woody's vehicle sitting in the rear parking lot.

Both men were asleep with the keys in the ignition. Shining his flashlight in the window, Fenris counted two dozen empty cans of their favorite cheap beer. Tommy Lee had a half empty bottle of Jack held loosely between his thighs.

Fenris opened the driver's door, and was slapped in the face by the stale stench of alcohol. Nina came out. He pointed to the bottle and shrugged. Rolling her eyes, the matronly African-American woman went back inside.

The sheriff called for a squad car, and a few minutes later, Deputy Harley Arroyo arrived. He got out and opened the back doors then went to help Fenris wake the men and get them into the squad car.

"Want I should call their mothers, Fen?"

"No sense is waking them at this hour. Take 'em to the station and put them in one of our deluxe suites."

Harley chuckled at the joke because all the jail cells looked the same. "Right. I'll have Martha turn down the beds and put a mint on their pillows."

Hours later, Fenris was kicked back at his desk, drinking coffee and reading a fishing magazine when Martha, the dispatcher, stuck her head in the door. "Dumb and Dumber are awake, boss."

"Thanks, Martha." His booted feet dropped to the floor and he stood with a sigh. In the cell block, as he liked to call the four individual enclosures behind the heavy metal door, Fenris found Woody splashing water on his face while Tommy Lee sat on the side of the cot with his head in his hands, moaning. Just to mess with their heads, the sheriff ran his baton over the bars to get their attention, the sound loud in the enclosed room. Fenris watched the men cringe with glee. "Oh, good. You're awake. This is the third time in six weeks, boys. You gotta stop getting drunk and staying out all night."

Woody wiped the water from his face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. "Oh, man! We musta had some good **** this time 'cause I don't remember a dad-blamed thing since yesterday mornin'."

Tommy Lee came to lean on the bars next to Fenris. "Hank hasn't made a batch in weeks, Woody. Not since his still blew up and nearly started that forest fire."

Shifting his feet, Fenris slipped the baton back into the loop on his belt. "Wasn't Hank's product, boys. This time, you got fried on the legal stuff." He unlocked the cells, inviting the men to step out, then followed them out to the bullpen. "Martha here's going to return your belongings. I suggest you go on home and stay there for the rest of the day, _and_ night. And you might want to think about giving up the hooch for a while. Can't handle it like you did in your twenties."

Harley opened the front door, giving Tommy Lee and Woody a mocking salute. "Until next time, fellas."

 **Motel 9**

 **Zanesville, Ohio**

 **The Next Day**

The morning dawned sunny, with a few clouds and a gentle breeze that barely stirred the leaves and grass. There was a nip in the air to remind everyone that winter was on its way.

Natasha was sitting on the railing with her back against the post, one leg stretched out in front of her and the other bent. Wrapped in a fuzzy sweater, she sipped coffee from a cardboard cup without acknowledging James when he came to stand next to her. His hands were shoved deep in his pants pockets, and he stared off into the distance without expression. After a while, he spoke. Just two words, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He glanced at her and away. "For not trusting you."

She took another sip of coffee. "You _really_ thought I was going to kill those men, and hide their bodies. You weren't just playing good cop-bad cop?"

Sadly, he shook his head. "No."

Turning to look at him, her smile was self-satisfied and smug. "Good. If _you_ believed it, they did too. It was just to unnerve them. They won't remember being there, or some of the events before, but they will remember being scared. Hopefully, they'll keep to themselves from now on."

James faced her with his arms crossed. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Become so many different people?"

Handing James the cup, Natasha swung her legs over the side, holding onto the edge of the railing, her ankles crossed. "It's what I _do_ , James. Who I am is… it's just a matter of circumstances."

He thought that over for a while, pacing to the end of the porch and back. "Who are you when you're with me?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor where she could see his feet. Today, he was wearing the sneakers, stone washed blue long sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of the jeans she bought him in New York. He would need more clothes when they returned to the city, and she wanted him to be comfortable wearing them before then. "I'm whoever you need me to be, James."

Staring into her cup, James finished off the last of her coffee before speaking again. "And who's that?"

Her fingers wrapped around his hand, giving it a small squeeze, and releasing. "A friend."

The light in his eyes changed though his expression didn't. He backed up a step as she jumped to the floor and went back inside, expecting him to follow. When he didn't, she shrugged and set about packing.

Over an hour later, James had still not come into the room. The breakfast she brought from the diner next door remained untouched, and aside from the last of her coffee, he hadn't had anything to drink that she knew of.

James had been awake, sitting at the table surfing the 'net on the laptop that had been in the back of their current vehicle. When he heard her come out of the bathroom, Natasha saw him close down the computer as if he didn't want her to know what he'd been doing. If he were almost any other man, she would think he'd been looking at porn. She could check the browser history, but wouldn't. Trust went both ways. For her to be checking up on him would tell him a different story than what she said.

The doorknob rattled, and James came into the room. He went straight to his duffle bag, added his clothes and pajamas, and zipped it closed. With the bag on his shoulder, he stood near the door waiting for Natasha.

"Head's up," she called out as she tossed him the keys to their new ride, another SUV with four-by-four capabilities. "You drive."

~~O~~

In a few minutes, they were on the road again, taking it slow and easy on smaller highways that offered a scenic view rather than speed to their destination. They'd gone about ten miles when James looked over at Natasha in the passenger seat. Her phone was in the center console, and on the dash was the modern version of a road map, a GPS, displaying the route Natasha had programmed into it.

He turned on the radio and set it to a station playing big band music. After a while, he got bored and changed the channel to country. He could feel Natasha looking at him. "Want me to change it?"

The side of her mouth closest to him turned up in a smile. "There's an unwritten rule: Driver picks the music."

"Any music?"

"If there's a station playing it, yes. Alternatively could download music or stop in the next town and buy CDs." James was confused by the term, and Natasha was kind enough to explain without being asked. "They're digital media, like vinyl records, but smaller."

James scanned through the stations until he came to one playing jazz. Tapping the steering wheel to the beat, he thought about everything he'd read during his Internet searches while Natasha was sleeping. He shut down the computer when she got up, knowing she would be curious as to what he was doing. "I researched my family. You told me they were all dead."

"I wouldn't lie to you about something so important, James."

"You _did_ lie. My brother had a child with a woman he hadn't married." Without meaning to, James hurled the accusation at Natasha, not with anger, but with resentment.

She closed the book in her lap, turning sideways to watch him. "It wasn't a _lie_. You asked about your brother and sisters, not their offspring." Steering with his left hand, James let the right rest on his knee. Natasha reached across the console and gripped his fingers. "I would've told you eventually, even gone with you to meet him and his family, if that's what you want. I just don't think it's a good idea at this point. He may not have been told anything about his background, who his father was, who _you_ were. Remember when Steve first realized it was you he'd been fighting?"

James saw where she was going, and nodded, squeezing her hand to let her know she was off the hook. "How do we tell him about me?"

"That's something we'll figure out together. Later." He looked at her then back to the road, and she went back to reading her book.

Hours later, they stopped to eat and fill the tank then it was back on the road. Their destination was Hot Springs, Arkansas. They arrived in the middle of the night, and managed to find a bed and breakfast that had a vacancy. The downside was the room only had one bed. It was, after all, a popular romantic getaway. After a short disagreement, James finally convinced Natasha to take the bed while he slept on the floor.

"If you're sure…"

He nodded once. "I am."

"Because I don't mind. I'm tougher than I look." Her sardonic grin and tone were meant to remind him of their fight where she'd jumped on his shoulders and rode him like a bucking bronco, until he threw her off. A few minutes later, she'd almost killed him with a grenade launcher, but only after he'd shot her.

"Yes, you are." There was a momentary urge to take her in his arms that he suppressed. "I'm still sleeping on the floor."

~~O~~

Natasha came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, a long sleeved t-shirt and bottoms that, though they covered every inch of her body, somehow made James want to be close to her, to feel her warmth cuddled against his side. Her hair was still damp from her shower, the strands curling into shoulder length waves.

Keeping his eyes averted, he grabbed his pajamas and took his turn in the bathroom. After his shower, he wiped the condensation from the mirror. It had only been a couple of weeks since the hair began to grow on his chest, and already he could see that it would be thick and dark, like the hair on his head. That too had grown, and was down to his shoulders again. He dried it with the towel then used Natasha's brush to remove the tangles.

He carried his clothes out to the bedroom, tossing them on a chair. Natasha was lying on the bed with the remote in her hand. She'd fallen asleep while a news program detailed the weather for the next several days.

James carefully removed the remote from her lax grip, turned off the television, and set it aside. The sheet and blanket had been pushed out of the way. He covered her, and shut out the light on the nightstand.

Breathing a heavy sigh, he lay down on the floor where Natasha had spread a sheet, rested his head on the pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chest. He lay there in the dark, wishing his life had been different.

~~O~~

In the morning, Natasha arose before James, changed clothes and went down to the dining room for coffee. She left a note so he would know to come down and join her, and a few minutes later, he did.

By the time they finished eating, it was late enough that her contact would be up and about. Previously, whenever she spoke to a contact, Natasha would do so privately, or in a language she knew James didn't speak to protect the person's identity. Today, she would do it differently.

Taking his hand, Natasha led him outside, down the steps and along the small country road, eventually taking his arm with her right hand and using the phone with the left. " _Bonjour_ , Atticus… Yes, we got in last night… It was quite late and I didn't want to bother you… Of course… Not at all… We're at the Old River Road Inn… Until then… _Au revoir_." She ended the call and put the phone in her jacket pocket. "We have a couple of hours to kill until the meeting with my contact. What would you like to do?"

"We could walk."

She smiled. "Up to you."

James started walking, slow and steady. More of a quiet stroll. As they passed a gift shop, he switched to holding her hand. Natasha glanced at him, and he smiled back, almost as if he expected her to protest. When she didn't, he faced forward again, still smiling.

By her estimation, they'd gone over a mile when they came to a hair salon. Natasha pulled him to a stop in front of it. "Mind if I get a haircut?"

"Of course not."

"They could give you a trim, if you like."

James looked into the salon, saw that it was filled with women, not a man in sight, and shook his head. "Another time."

Less than an hour later, they were again walking along the narrow road. Turning left, James led them to the boardwalk that ran along the edge of the lake. The temperature had dropped, and a chill wind pushed at them. Gazing over the water, James felt more at ease now than since they left the cabin.

Natasha took his hand and they walked back toward the inn, cutting back to the road near the gift shop.

They were nearing the inn, set back from the road on a sharp curve, when suddenly the tranquility of the scene was ruptured by the squeal of brakes and voices shouting in alarm.

James swept Natasha into his arms for protection as a large moving truck careened out of control headed right for them.

 **TBC**


	18. Chapter 41

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 41**

The screech of metal on metal filled the air as James pulled Natasha so tightly against his chest that the breath was forced out of her. And when she looked up at him, he was staring into the distance, completely frozen in place. His arms contracted almost to the point where it hurt. "James? James!"

She clenched her hands into the material of his jacket and tried to push them both out of the way of the truck, but he was immovable, staring at the oncoming truck as though mesmerized.

A split second before the truck passed through the spot where they were standing, James and Natasha were tackled to the ground. The impact of another body and the weight of all three hitting the ground brought James out of his trance, his head turning side to side as if he were lost.

The weight of the Good Samaritan was lifted, and a hand came down to help Natasha stand then was extended to James. He looked at the hand as if it were a snake, took a deep breath then allowed the man to help him up.

"Looks like I came along just in time, Nat." The deep voice was husky, warm and familiar, with just a trace of New York to show from where he originally hailed. "You two okay?"

"Yes. Thanks, Atticus," Natasha answered for both of them.

The truck stopped up ahead and the driver came running back. "You guys okay? I hit a patch of ice just as I was turnin' onto the main road."

Natasha gave the older man her most winning smile. "No harm done, except to our dignity."

The man let out a huff of relief. "Thank God. Let me buy ya a cup o' coffee or something."

Atticus stepped forward. "No need. It's all good, buddy. Just take it easy from now on."

With a nod and a tip of his hat, the driver returned to his truck and pulled into the street again at a much slower speed.

James still seemed out of it, and if she had to guess, he'd had another flashback. It put her on the fence about taking him to Steve now instead of when the scepter crisis was over. She held James' hand, pulling him toward the pub they'd passed on their walk. He didn't resist when she whispered for him to slide into the booth so she could sit on the outside. She ordered them each an Irish whiskey to kill the chill from their walk and landing in the dewy grass. Hopefully, it would bring James out of his daze.

He picked up the cup and sipped it slowly while Natasha talked with Atticus. By the time the drink was gone, he was showing a little more animation and interest in the conversation, and the people around them.

Atticus was well over six feet tall, dark skinned, with brown eyes, a shaved head, and under his long sleeves she knew were several tattoos marking significant moments in his life. He beamed the coordinates to the safe house to Natasha's phone, and James read it over her shoulder, surprising them both by asking, "How far?"

"A little more than two hours, give or take traffic, which isn't much on the back roads. It's a completely self-sufficient structure. Water, gas, power. There's even room for a garden."

Natasha programmed the coordinates into her phone and transmitted them to the GSP in the SUV. "Won't be here that long." She stood, and the men did too. "Appreciate the assist, Atticus."

They shook hands, Atticus with his ever-present grin. "Happy to help, Nat. And I'll expect my usual fee delivered to the dead drop."

"Count on it."

James again surprised Natasha by extending his hand. The men eyed each other warily for a moment in a silent battle of wills as they shook. Atticus pulled a knit cap over his head, zipped up his jacket and exited the pub. When he'd gone, she led the way out turning toward the inn. They hadn't gone far when James asked, "What's his usual fee?"

The tone of the question told Natasha that James had the wrong idea about what Atticus expected as payment. "A bottle of cognac and a box of chocolate truffles for his wife's birthday."

"Where's the dead drop?"

"Petit Jean State Park. Once we're settled at the house, we can drive into Little Rock, and drop it off on the way back." James looked down at her when she wrapped a hand around his right bicep. "Want to talk about what happened back there?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and exhaled loudly. "I'm not sure what happened. The screeching of the tires made me freeze up. It was like a… a memory, yet it wasn't. More instinctive." The silence stretched for a while, and soon they came in sight of the inn. "You could've been killed, Natasha."

"You too. But we weren't. Always a plus, in my opinion."

James stopped walking, and they faced each other on the sidewalk where it ended at the inn's parking lot. "I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you."

He held her shoulders, lightly flexing his fingers. As always, the left one felt different in a way that wasn't unpleasant, just… different. "Every day we're alive is another chance to build a life worth living, James."

She sensed someone standing near them. Glancing to the left, she saw an older couple smiling at them. The woman hung on the man's arm in a way that spoke of long-term intimacy, and she guessed that they'd been married for many years. The man grinned at James, giving him a gentle knock on the shoulder, and a wink. "Go ahead, boy. Kiss her."

Over her shoulder, Natasha murmured, "Oh, we're not…"

~~O~~

James had wanted to kiss Natasha since the last time when she'd done it to prove a point. Now it was his turn to prove a point. His point being that he cared for Natasha as more than a friend or a mentor. Taking the older man's advice, James slowly brought Natasha closer. He thought she'd resist, maybe even get angry, and push him away, given that she'd been about to reveal they weren't a couple.

She tilted her head back, her lips parting, to speak or as an invitation, James didn't care. He took the opportunity presented to him, lowering his head to meet her halfway. For a moment, their eyes remained open as their lips touched, and in Natasha's he saw a spark of something, he didn't know what, in those green orbs. Then, her eyes closed, and so did his.

The kiss was gentle, sweet and breathtaking at the same time. Her small hands pressed against his chest, warm in the chill wind that came off the water. Her mouth tasted like the coffee drink she'd drunk, and her lips were soft and supple as they moved over his. James thought that she would take it further when the tip of her tongue grazed his lips, but then it retreated before he could respond to the contact. A sigh escaped her throat as they drew back by unspoken agreement.

The long dark lashes that surrounded Natasha eyes lowered as she inhaled, their eyes meeting again on the exhale. Then, her hands were gone and she'd stepped back until his fell away. They turned to the couple, and they were kissing as well.

James turned toward the inn with Natasha at his side, casting the occasional glance her way as they crossed the parking lot and climbed the stairs to the porch. He reached past her to open the door and followed her in.

By now, it was mid-afternoon. James had one foot on the bottom step when he noticed Natasha had veered off to the desk and was speaking to the man who'd checked them in the night before. He nodded, and she crossed the lobby to his side. Without speaking, they walked up to the third floor. Once inside the room with the door closed, the atmosphere became strained and uncomfortable.

Before they left that morning, the bedding he'd used to sleep on the floor had been put away so no one would know they weren't sleeping in the same bed.

Natasha pulled the pillows from under the duvet and used them to support her back while she read. Left with nothing to do, James grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He tuned it to a channel showing a movie he just barely remembered seeing with Steve months before he'd enlisted.

A few minutes into it, a pillow smacked him on the side of the head. When he looked up, Natasha nodded to the empty side of the bed. Taking off his boots, he brought the pillow and joined her on the oversized bed, leaving a generous space between them.

She surprised him by saying, "That kiss wasn't bad for someone who hasn't practiced in over seventy years." A commercial came on, and without looking up from her book, Natasha murmured, "You're still sleeping on the floor."

~~O~~

Just after sunrise, Natasha and James checked out of the inn, gassed up the SUV, and headed for the new safe house. They'd stayed in the last one for several months, much longer than they should have. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

Something else was bothering her as well. When James told her he wanted to see Steve, her first instinct was to say no, to tell him she didn't think he was ready. That's why she suggested… _Call it what it was, Romanoff. It was an order._

It was her opinion that James wasn't ready to see Steve, but that didn't matter. It wasn't about _her_ wants and needs. This was about what _he_ wanted, what _he_ needed. Their time together had been helping him relearn to think independently, to exercise free will, and take care of himself without help. All he'd really done was trade one jailer for another. Over the months, James had apologized on numerous occasions for one thing or another. Now it was her turn.

Yanking the wheel to the right, Natasha pulled off to the side of the road, and shut off the engine.

"What are you doing?"

Natasha held the keys in one hand, and turned sideways in her seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. "We need to talk."

Confused, James tilted his head to the side. "About?"

She got out of the SUV and walked around to his door. He got out as well and stood there watching her with interest as she paced a few steps away and back. "Since day one, I've made most of the decisions. When and what to eat, where to go on our walks, who drives, what to watch, what music to listen to." She looked away from his expressionless blue eyes. "Each time I've been away, I've locked up the weapons, and put restrictions on what websites you can access while I'm gone. I also made the arbitrary decision not to take you to Steve for two reasons.

"One, my teammates and I are on a quest, as Thor would say, to locate an exceptionally dangerous alien artifact that needs to be returned to its proper owners before those in possession cause a worldwide catastrophe. So far, we've not been able to locate it."

"And two?"

Taking a deep breath, Natasha let their eyes meet again. "I didn't think you were ready. It was arrogant and presumptuous of me to not discuss it with you, as if you were a child who didn't know what was good for you." He opened his mouth and shut it again when she held up her hand. "You're supposed to be relearning how to be yourself again, and I took that away from you while appearing to help." She let that sink in before hitting him with the big whammy. "There's more. I should've told you this a long time ago. Again, I kept it from you for a good reason. At least it seemed that way to me."

Shifting her feet as if preparing for battle, Natasha caught and held James' unblinking gaze. If he wanted to leave her standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, it was no more than she deserved. "The information I gave you on Isolde was incomplete. I removed all mention of one important fact, and you're not going to like it."

"Say it."

Taking a deep breath, Natasha let it out and took another. "When Isolde was taken by the death squads, she was pregnant with your child."

The shock on his face was painful for her to see. Even worse for him to hear and experience. If he wanted the details, he would ask.

"A _child_?" James' voice was so soft, barely above a whisper that Natasha had to strain to hear it.

She moved out of his way as he began to pace, moving faster and faster, his hands becoming fists, until he exploded, but not at her. He turned and slammed his metal hand into the side of the SUV leaving a huge dent and a fist sized hole. His breaths still coming fast, he gripped the top edge of the door frame with both hands, leaving marks there as well. Over his shoulder, he asked, "Why?"

"You were emotionally compromised when I found you. Holding back the information was meant as a kindness, not to deprive you of the knowledge. I'd planned on telling you. I just had to find the right time."

He whipped around, looming menacingly over her, arms held stiffly at his sides. "No. I mean why tell me _now_? You could've kept the secret, taken it to your grave, but you didn't. Why?"

"Because a real friend would've told you the truth, no matter how much it hurt because waiting always makes it worse. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the things I've done to you these months. For how I've treated you, telling myself it was for your own good."

Turning his back on her, James hunched his shoulders, drawing into himself. There had to be something she could do or say to keep him from pulling away so far that he backslid. Slowly, she reached out to touch him on the shoulder. "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I don't expect it to happen any time soon. At least think about it."

~~O~~

James let his mind go over everything that Natasha had just confessed, especially about the child he would never know. Seeing things from her perspective, he could understand how it looked to her. All the things she'd done were for his protection had actually been her making decisions without consulting him or asking his opinion. The child, he fully understood her reasoning. And though she thought keeping the child's existence from him was the most unspeakable, it was the one he found the easiest to forgive, because she was right. Had she told him before he'd had the chance to come to terms with his past and this new world he'd been thrust into, he would've left her to find those responsible without considering that they'd died long ago.

He watched her patiently awaiting his decision. _Could_ he grant her absolution for the rest? Perhaps the best course of action was to see how their relationship developed going forward.

"James?"

Crossing his arms, James leaned against the side of the SUV, letting her see that he was not only angry, but disappointed as well. "No. Or at least not yet." He snatched the keys from her hand. "I'm driving. Get in."

~~O~~

Sitting in the passenger seat, Natasha watched the scenery go by without really taking it in. Since getting back on the road, James hadn't said a word. He turned on the radio loud to discourage conversation. What she found amusing was that he'd chosen Clint's favorite genre: classic rock. A few times, she caught him tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat.

Over an hour later, James turned onto a gravel road that took a winding path through the trees then burst into a clearing without warning. He pulled to a stop at the sight before them. They looked at each other, and got out, going around to the front of the SUV for more staring.

"This is the right place?"

Natasha checked the coordinates and nodded at the building. "It is."

Behind the home was a backdrop of boulders and sheer cliffs that had been created by nature. Like the cabin in Vermont, this one blended with nature, but in a much different way. From the outside, it appeared to have been carved from one enormous boulder that just happened to have been left in this spot after the last ice age. There was no porch. Just a natural path to the front door made of flat stones. Windows to the left and right were covered with curtains so nothing of the interior could be seen. The sides of the home were curved instead of at right angles. It also appeared to be much smaller than their previous abode.

James went to the back of the SUV for their bags and returned to her side. As they started for the front door, Natasha muttered under her breath, "If Fred or Wilma Flintstone answers the door, we're leaving."

"Fred who?"

Natasha snorted. "We have to work on your knowledge of modern culture, James." Stopping at the door, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Ready for the big reveal?"

Without waiting for a reply, Natasha pushed the door open and stepped inside. James came in behind her, both staring open-mouthed around the living room. The rather ordinary exterior had done a fantastic job of hiding the treasures within.

A short arched hallway led to the living room. The walls were the same color as the light grey exterior. Arched windows and doors had been carved into the stone. The vaulted ceiling curved inward toward a ceiling fan. A fireplace snuggled against one wall, the hearth extending out about eighteen inches. Furniture had been arranged to take advantage of the fireplace in winter and sunshine in summer.

Natasha set her bag on an antique white telephone chair that held a Tiffany style lamp and a pen set with a quill. James dropped his bag with hers and followed her over to the glass doors that opened onto a field surrounded by forest. He opened the doors, letting in the cool mountain breeze that smelled of earth and the coming winter.

James opened a door, and found a walk-in closet. Natasha's sharp eyes located the hidden compartment in the back where the weapons and so forth would be stored. The second door was a half bath, just a sink and toilet.

She followed his muffled footsteps down a short hallway to the right of the fireplace and found herself in the most amazing dining room. The floor had been carved and stained to look like wood. Another window looked out straight ahead, and on the right, through another short archway she could see the kitchen. Next to that, a set of stairs climbed to the second level where the bedrooms and the full bath would be.

In the kitchen, several arched windows let in lots of light, turning the grey stone to a matte platinum. A cooking island sat in the center of the room. Chairs lined one side of the island and the pantry took up all of one wall at the far end. On the walls were cast iron hooks holding a variety of cooking pans and utensils.

Turning in a circle, Natasha took everything in. "Not your average safe house, huh, Barnes?" There was no comment from James, and he was nowhere on the first floor. Taking the stairs, she found him standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. She came to his side to have a look. "Nice."

Before her confession, James would've let her choose which bedroom to take, however, Natasha didn't expect that courtesy this time, so when James went into the room and closed the door, she wasn't surprised or insulted. The second bedroom was at the opposite end of the hall with the bathroom at the top of the stairs in between the two rooms.

The bedroom was spacious with windows on either side of the queen sized wrought iron canopy bed. A love seat was against one wall and on the opposite side there was a walk-in closet with a set of dresser drawers built into the side. A small wardrobe in antique white with a flowery design sat patiently waiting to be filled.

Up near the ceiling, Natasha spotted the environmental unit. Though she hadn't noticed, there was probably one in each room.

She opened her bag and put her clothes and personal items away, carrying her toothbrush down to the bathroom. Here, like the rest of the home, archways were the dominant feature. There was plenty of counter space, and the tub included a Jacuzzi function. The tub's faucet was on the side near the corner instead of on the end. Above what Natasha called the foot there was another fireplace. The windows had bamboo blinds that could be lowered to block out the sun or just to give the illusion of privacy where none was necessary. This far from other homes, voyeurism wouldn't be a problem.

Natasha had given the reins to James for the time being. Taking out her book, she returned to the living room to read until he decided what their next step would be.

 **HYDRA Base**

 **Belgium**

 **Several Weeks Later**

The cold wind quickly dispersed the smoke from the destroyed HYDRA base as a SHIELD SAR team searched the rubble for survivors. Thor helped where he could, lifting slabs of concrete out of the way or breaking it up so the men and women could move it easier. He rejoined the other Avengers, towering over everyone but Steve.

Bruce huddled near the quinjet's cockpit wrapped in a blanket. The Other Guy hadn't been needed on this operation, so he'd remained inside the quinjet, yet still felt the cold as if he'd been running through the snow covered forest in his bare feet wearing, well, nothing.

There was a beep from the port side telling him that the coffee was done. He filled six cups, set them on a tray and carried it down the ramp, passing one to each of his teammates. "Another bust, Cap?"

Steve pushed his mask up on top of his head as he lifted the cup, the steam rising from the surface, obscuring his features. "Fourth time in as many weeks."

Thor downed his coffee quickly, setting the empty cup on the tray. "Stark, are you certain that Jarvis would not dispatch us to these obsolete and remote locations intending for us to engage in the hunting of the elusive snipe?"

Bruce hid a grin behind his cup as did Natasha and Clint. The billionaire managed to look amused and insulted at the same time. "Jarvis wouldn't send us on a snipe hunt, Point Break. The intel was good. Residual radiation tells me that the scepter was here at some point. The decay rate indicates it was moved well over a month ago."

"Then I'd like to know why there's maximum resistance with only minimal personnel in these has-been bases," Clint interjected. "I for one am getting tired of being called out in the middle of the night for squat."

Steve, Stark, Thor and Clint argued over the merits of Jarvis's intel, and for once, Natasha didn't participate. She stood on the periphery appearing to listen, but Bruce could tell it was all going in one ear and out the other.

He backed away from the group and walked around to Natasha's side. "Something wrong, Tasha?" One shoulder went up then down. "Is it Barnes?" She looked at him and away, telling him all he needed to know. Taking her empty cup, he handed her his, urging her to drink. "You should talk to Steve."

Her eyes met his over the cup as she held the drink in her hand. "He won't like what I have to say."

Bruce set the tray down and shoved his hands deep in his pockets for warmth. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

~~O~~

Conceding that Bruce was right, Natasha looked into the sky and back to his sympathetic smile. "This is different, Bruce. I'm sure he thinks more is going on than I've told him."

One hand came out of its pocket make a swirling motion. "Steve thinks you and Barnes are non-platonically involved?"

She drained the last of the coffee, and carried the cup into the quinjet. "He also believes I'm keeping more than just our location and relationship from him."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I've been lying to Barnes, Steve _and_ myself, by keeping it from him." Taking a deep breath, Natasha let it out slowly. "I'll talk to him when we get back to base."

Before Bruce could make another comment that would cause her to feel worse than she did, Thor, Stark, Clint and Steve came to join them. Clint closed the hatch, unslung his bow and quiver, and stowed them in the case before taking the pilot's seat. He had them in the air within five minutes, headed back toward New York.

Steve pulled off his mask and gloves, tossed them in one of the jump seats, set the shield next to it and came to sit next to her, elbows on his thighs. "You're unusually quiet, Natasha."

One side of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Got a problem with that?"

"It's not like you to be so introspective."

Slowly, one finger at a time, Natasha pulled off her gloves then the Widow's Bites, setting them in a cubbyhole out of the way. "We need to talk later."

Steve shrugged, and looked away. "Maria's gone for a few days. Let's have dinner out. Away from…"

"Distractions?"

"I was going to say Stark and Barton, but that works too."

In his eyes, Natasha could see that he knew it was about Bucky. But then, what else could it be about? "Someplace quiet."

One eyebrow moved upward a fraction of an inch. From other women, what she said might be taken as a come-on, but Steve knew her better than that. They'd long ago established a friendship, though the unwavering trust had come later, while they were on the run from HYDRA.

She matched his expression with one of her own. "I know just the place. Be ready to go by seven, Rogers."

~~O~~

Dinner was over, and the remains had taken by the server. A few minutes later, he returned with coffee for two and a double serving of apple crumble for Steve with an extra spoon for Natasha. They occupied themselves with tasting the sweet treat for a few moments. Though he seemed to like it, Steve shrugged as he chewed. "Not as good as my grandmother's, but not bad."

Natasha put her spoon down, took a sip of coffee and set it out of the way. With her arms resting on the edge of the table, she watched Steve's face as he scooped up another bite of apple and some crumble. He left the spoon resting on the side of the bowl. "This is about Bucky, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He ate what was on the spoon and jammed it back into the dessert with a huff of frustration. "I don't understand what's going on, Natasha. It's been _months_. Why won't he…"

Natasha stopped what would likely be a lengthy rant by taking his hand. "Relax, Steve." He turned his hand over to hold hers and she gave it a squeeze. "He wants to see you."

 **TBC**

FYI - There IS such a thing as a snipe:

A snipe is any of about 25 wading bird species in three genera in the family _Scolopacidae_. They are characterized by a very long, slender bill and crypsis plumage. The _Gallinago_ snipes have a nearly worldwide distribution, the _Lymnocryptes_ jack snipe is restricted to Asia and Europe and the _Coenocorypha_ snipes are found only in the Outlying Islands of New Zealand. The three species of painted snipe are not closely related to the typical snipes, and are placed in their own family, the _Rostratulidae_.

Camouflage may enable snipes to remain undetected by hunters in marshland. If the snipe flies, hunters have difficulty estimating a correct aiming lead for the bird's erratic flight pattern. The difficulties involved in hunting snipe gave rise to the term "sniper", referring to a skilled anti-personnel military sharpshooter.

"Going on a snipe hunt" is a phrase suggesting a fool's errand, or an impossible task. It is often used as a practical joke upon campers, and those unfamiliar with hunting, by those more experienced.


	19. Chapter 42

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to ladygris for her input and opinions. No Beta the last few chapters so all mistakes are mine.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 42**

Steve inhaled sharply, exhaling with relief. "When?"

Natasha looked away, her smile fading as she took a sip of coffee and picked up her spoon. "Depends."

"On?"

"At the moment, we're committed to helping Thor locate the scepter. More than just Earth is at stake if he doesn't return it to the Nine Realms. In my opinion, that has to take precedence." She poked the dessert with the spoon. "You're going to be upset with me, and you have every right to be." Steve could be patient when it served his purpose so he sipped his coffee and waited. "James informed me of his decision weeks ago."

Sitting up straight, Steve's anger surged, making him want to verbally lash out as his teammate. Yes, she was also a friend. However, at the moment he didn't have friendly feelings toward her. " _Weeks?_ When?"

"The night before the first raid. The emergency message from Clint and James' request arrived within minutes of each other. And Thor's …" she made air quotes, "… 'The fate of the universe is at stake' proclamation is the more immediate problem."

"But why now?"

Natasha signaled for the server, and soon her coffee and his had been refilled. She took another bite of the crumble, chewing slowly. "I realized that all this time I've been no better than his HYDRA captors. I've just been using a softer prison."

"Prison?" Steve set his spoon aside, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "You're nothing _like_ them, Natasha."

"But I am. In the beginning, James looked to me for guidance, and I liked being in control of every facet of his life, just the two of us alone with few outside influences. It was even my idea for him to dance with a girl at the bar. It didn't work out well."

"Bar?" Annoyed with himself for repeating everything she said, Steve took a deep breath to get his whirling thoughts under control. Somehow, he was able to smile. "You've left out quite a bit of information, Romanoff. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Before Natasha could speak, a shadow fell over the table. Thinking it was the server, Steve said, "No more coffee, thanks."

"Actually, coffee sounds great."

A surge of affection for the owner of the voice brought Steve to his feet. He gave Maria a kiss and signaled for another chair to be brought. One of the busboys rushed to assist, and Maria joined them, followed by the server bringing her coffee. She opened the napkin and draped it over her lap. "Hope you don't mind me joining you. Jarvis gave me the address."

"Of course not." The look in Natasha's eyes told him she'd rather have done this with just the two of them, though she wouldn't come right out and say it.

"What're we talking about?"

Steve took her hand. "Bucky." He glanced at Natasha, daring her to make a remark to go with the smirk that turned up one corner of her mouth. "Why do you call him James? Only his grandmother and teachers called Bucky by his given name. His mom called him Jamie, unless he was in trouble."

"It was his choice, Steve." She crossed her knees and leaned back in her chair. "Even now, he feels as if he'll never be the man he was before. He believes Bucky Barnes died the day he fell from the train, and James Barnes, another version of the man you once knew, has taken his place. One that's less worthy of your friendship."

Maria picked up his spoon and took a bit of the crumble before speaking. "There's nothing he could do to drive Steve away. Does he know that?"

One shoulder twitched in a shrug. "I've told him. Repeatedly. Wanting to see Steve _now_ means he's finally starting to believe it."

Steve reached for the spoon, his appetite for dessert coming back now that he knew he'd be seeing his best friend again. Across the table, he saw Natasha smile in a way that, on anyone else, he would call wistful. But the Black Widow wasn't the type of woman to be melancholy. What would cause her to show it now?

Whatever the cause, Steve hoped it didn't interfere with her ability to calm the Other Guy at the end of a mission. If he stopped responding to her, they would just have to let the anger dissipate on its own, a situation that could take a few minutes, a few hours or longer, depending on the circumstances.

"When is good for you, Steve?"

He wiped his mouth on the napkin and set it aside. "As soon as it can be arranged."

"The site should be quiet, easily accessible, and defensible to give James a feeling of safety, lots of escape routes. He frequently gets claustrophobic after one of his nightmares. It has to be somewhere strangers are unlikely to stumble across while we're there." Natasha finished off her coffee and rejected another refill.

Maria shifted in her seat. "I'll do the research and make up a list. New York or D.C.?"

Steve glanced at Natasha, and she nodded. "We should stay close to HQ just in case Stark comes up with new intel on the scepter."

"Agreed. Let's keep this between us for now. We'll read Thor, Stark and Banner into it if or when it becomes necessary." His eyes scanned Natasha's features. "You don't have a problem with this, do you?"

For a moment, it seemed as if Steve had said something to anger her, and an angry Black Widow was nothing to mess with. "It was his idea, not mine. Personally, I don't think he was ready. It sounds somewhat selfish, but our time away from everything-people, noise, the massive responsibility of being an Avenger, it's helped me as much as him. And I wasn't ready to give it up. Told him to let the idea simmer for a few days and see if he still felt the same. Then Thor and the scepter happened.

"To tell the truth, I was relieved it had to be put on the back burner for a while. To give him a little more time."

"Time?" Maria asked.

Natasha drew designs in the condensation on her water glass with a finger. "Nightmares and flashbacks were a daily occurrence when we first went off the grid. He learned to meditate, we do Tai Chi, hike, run, anything physical." She chuckled. "We even began sparring and stick fighting a couple times a week. It's helping a little at a time."

Having seen Natasha working out with Barton, Steve wondered how an aggressive form of exercise could help lessen the impact of bad dreams and flashbacks. Steve had gone through PTSD when he first came out of the ice. And his friend's would be worse several times over considering all that had happened to him in the last seventy years. Steve had the luxury, comparatively, of having slept through it all. Bucky hadn't been nearly as lucky.

The server brought the check, Steve passed over his credit card, and the man was gone again. Glancing over at Natasha, just for one unguarded moment, he saw something in her eyes. Emotional pain on Bucky's behalf seemed a likely scenario under the circumstances, though it was totally out of character for the woman he knew.

"Let's take some time to find a meeting place. Scope it out, make any necessary alterations. Lay in supplies, food, water, a place for him to sleep. Let him get used to the new surroundings before I show up."

"Sounds like a plan, Rogers. I'll run it past our boy when it's time."

The server placed a leather cover on the table at Steve's right elbow. He signed the receipt, pocketing his copy and the card. "Are you still keeping the location a secret?"

"For now. We had to change venues a few weeks back. Couple of locals got a little too nosy for their own good. Thought it best to vacate the premises with extreme prejudice."

Steve was saved from responding when his phone beeped at the same as Natasha's, a message from Stark letting them know they had another possible location of the scepter. He tossed his napkin on the table and stood. Maria stood to give him a kiss. "I drove myself. Go. And good luck."

He caught up with Natasha at the front door. She handed the valet her ticket and a twenty, and snatched the keys from the boy's hand. "Thanks." Less than thirty seconds later, they were on their way back to Stark Tower.

 **Hot Springs**

 **Two Weeks Later**

It was full dark and had been for hours when Natasha arrived back at the safe house. She let herself in, closing the door quietly behind her. Too tired to do more than toss her bag in a chair, she went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, only to find it had already been done.

In the living room, a fire had been set but not started in the fireplace. She used the firestarter to light it, and sat on the sofa to watch the flames licking at the tinder. The warmth from the fire made her drowsy, and before long, she'd fallen asleep. She didn't move a muscle when James came downstairs and covered her with a blanket.

~~O~~

Natasha awoke to chilly daylight covered with a blanket and the fire on its way to going out. She threw the covers off and padded into the downstairs bathroom. When she came out, the smell of coffee drew her into the kitchen where a fresh pot was waiting. A clean cup was on the counter next to it. The scent of food lingered in the air, making her stomach growl. She had no idea what time it was or how long she'd slept, and didn't really care at the moment.

Going to the refrigerator, Natasha peered inside. On the top shelf was a plate with what looked like leftovers from the night before. Apparently, James had cooked for himself while she was gone. This time, unlike the others, she hadn't restricted his access to the Internet or locked the weapons cache beyond the DNA scanner. As his profile wasn't in the database, he was locked out. She'd have to change that.

Placing the covered plate in the microwave, Natasha went upstairs to shower and change. Wondering what James was up to, she knocked on his door, not surprised when there was no answer. She slowly descended the stairs, still tired from completing four difficult raids, two in less than a week. And each time one didn't pan out, the frustration level increased until the teammates were arguing about nothing, or beating the crap out of each other during downtime.

She poured a second cup of coffee, and turned on the microwave, watching the food until it dinged. Opening the drawer to the right of the sink, she grabbed a fork and sat at the island counter to eat.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet. Lately, Natasha had been missing the hustle of the city when she was here, and wanted silence when in the city. Her only refuge from the world was the one here with James. The times they spent together were great… most of the time. Sometimes, she needed to be alone. Others, she wanted company even if they didn't talk to each other.

Just as she finished eating, the French doors opened and James came in. He poured himself a cup of coffee without greeting her, taking it out onto the small stone patio in the back.

Standing at the kitchen window, she watched the puffy clouds slowly moving from north to south, their varied shades of grey forecasting snow. A gust of wind rattled the windows, and Natasha turned from them to make her way back to the living room where she found James adding logs to the fire.

She sat at one end of the sofa and pulled the blanket up to her chest, watching the flames dance. James got to his feet, brushed the dirt and wood from his hands, and dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa. For almost three weeks he'd been avoiding being this close to her unless they happened to pass in the hall or on the stairs. It meant they were making progress.

Then, he turned sideways in his seat, one arm resting on the back of the sofa. "I've thought over everything you told me."

Hiding her surprise, Natasha faced him. "And?"

"You were right not to tell me about Isolde and the child. But the rest, I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you just yet."

"Understood." His eyes darted around the room, and back to hers. "Something else on your mind?"

James nodded. "I've decided to wait until you've located the scepter to meet with Steve."

Wrapping both hands around the cup, Natasha let it warm her hands. "I think that's wise. He knows you're safe here with me." He looked as if he had more to say, and she put up a hand for quiet. "Starting now, on a day-to-day basis, you do your thing, and I'll do mine. Decisions that affect both of us, meals, changing safe houses, whatever, we'll make them together."

"And if we disagree?"

Using his question as a way to get past the silent treatment by injecting humor, Natasha poked him in the leg with her foot. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

~~O~~

Though he was still annoyed with her, Natasha's deadpan delivery startled a smile out of James. "Maybe. How do you resolve disputes with your team?"

"The Avengers?" At his blank look, she explained, "That's what we call ourselves." She made a face. "Earth's mightiest heroes. And it depends on who's fighting with whom. Thor just grabs the person by the throat and threatens him. Stark is his preferred target. Steve tries to talk his way out, and if that doesn't work, _then_ he fights. Clint and I spar. We try to avoid disagreements with Bruce as much as possible because no one wants to make him angry. He's the one member of the team who _doesn't_ like taking it to the mat."

Genuinely interested in her life when she wasn't with him, James remarked, "Clint must have special skills in order to keep up."

She took a long sip of her coffee and set the cup aside to pull the blanket up to her chest. He took the hint and went to stir the fire. It flared to life again, and James returned to his seat.

"Clint was raised in a circus where he became an expert marksman with bow and arrow, knives, and katana. That's a traditional Japanese sword. He's ambidextrous, exceptionally well trained in acrobatics, tactics, martial arts, hand-to-hand combat, and can turn almost anything into a weapon. He's also an exceptional pilot, and can drive or ride anything with wheels, including a unicycle. He also makes the customize tips for his arrows." Pride in her friend's accomplishments showed on her face. "He speaks Russian, Spanish, French, and Italian, has a sharp mind, a sarcastic wit, and oozes charm when it suits him to do so. But don't let that fool you. Clint is one of the most dangerous people you'll ever meet."

"Anything else I should know about the team?"

A sigh preceded her answer. "I'm the only one not in a romantic relationship."

A memory tickled at James, asking to be noticed. "What about Steve?"

"What _about_ Steve?"

"Is he still…"

Natasha snorted a laugh. "A virgin?" James nodded, a little embarrassed at her brash statement. "He has a girlfriend. They're practically living together."

"Is it serious?"

Both of her feet came to rest on his thigh as she stretched out her legs. "About a month ago, she took him home to meet her father. Since she hasn't spoken to her dad in over a decade, I'd say it's pretty serious."

"What's her name?"

"Maria Hill. And no, he hasn't proposed. At least not yet. They're taking it slow, so I wouldn't expect Steve to ask you to be his best man for a while."

Crossing his arms, James tried to ignore the way Natasha's toes wiggled against his thigh, digging in with both feet then alternating, as if she didn't realize she was doing it. He was ready to change the subject to something that had nothing to do with two people being intimate.

She adjusted her position so she could get her cup. "Now about Thanksgiving. The last few years, I've been spending the holiday with Clint and his family."

"And now?"

"We can stay here and have our own celebration, go to one of the restaurants in town, or I can ask Clint to set another place, _if_ you want to spend the day at his farm. He has kids, a boy seven and a girl four. They're rambunctious. And because you're someone new, they'll want to monopolize your time. They're great, don't get me wrong. But they can be a little overwhelming, if you're not used to being around children. His brother-in-law and his girlfriend will be there as well."

The wiggling toes turned into rubbing. He wanted her to stop, but it felt good. Too good. "What do _you_ want to do?"

The blanket was thrown over the back of the sofa and Natasha rolled to her feet, picked up her cup and headed for the kitchen. "Oh, no. Don't put this all on me. What we do will be _your_ choice. I'm cool with whatever you want."

The thought of being in the midst of a noisy family didn't appeal to James, at least not at the moment. "You go to Clint's. I'll stay here."

She returned with a full cup for each of them. "Where you go, I go. If you're staying, I'm staying. We're in this together, as long as it takes." She returned to her place on the sofa, and when she reached for the blanket, James tucked it over her lap. "Holiday weren't observed at the Red Room." She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe it's time to start my own traditions, _da?_ "

James didn't know what to say, so he agreed with her. " _Da._ "

"Do you remember how your family celebrated Christmas?"

James was surprised to find that the memories surrounding Christmas and New Years were quite vivid. That is until she went back to rubbing his thigh with one foot, doing things to him that he was certain she hadn't intended. He could get up, distance himself from her, but that would draw attention to the result of her actions. To prevent an awkward situation from developing, he felt his only recourse was to fight back.

He reached under the blanket to grab Natasha's ankle, and pulled her toward him, holding up in front of him.

"James! What are you _doing_?"

Holding on just tight enough that she couldn't get away, James pinched the material of her fuzzy sock and slowly pulled it off to expose her brightly painted toes. Flashing her what he hoped was a mischievous smile, he ran the tip of one finger over the bottom of her foot. When he reached the instep, her leg spasmed, she started giggling and tried to pull away.

"No! Stop! Stop!" He continued to tickle her foot until she was screaming for mercy. "Please, s-s-stop!"

Finally, he released her, and for a moment, those green eyes watched him intently, Natasha raised up onto her elbows, panting and grinning. Before she could say a word, he pulled the sock off her other foot.

This time, she struck back, and soon, they were rolling around on the floor, wrestling playfully, banging into furniture, knocking things over. They rolled off the carpet onto the stone floor of the dining room. James brought them to a stop with himself on top of Natasha, her arms held in a loose grip near her shoulders. She could easily get away, but didn't even try.

Her eyes had darkened with excitement. At least that's what it looked like. He raised one eyebrow. "I win."

~~O~~

When James grabbed her ankle, Natasha's first instinct was to defend herself. But the touch of his metal hand was gentle, and the look in his eyes was playful instead of antagonistic.

Now, with the white of the stone ceiling encircling James' head like a halo as he hovered over her in the afternoon light, she felt something loosening in her chest. With his hair falling forward to brush his jaw line, and his eyes now a dark blue-grey, she smiled at the picture they would present to someone looking in from the outside: a couple being silly.

His fingers opened, and she was free, though she stayed, her eyes darting over his features, reading his intent before he realized it himself. The fingers of his right hand lightly brushed the hairs from her cheek and forehead. Then, his smile changed as he leaned toward her.

Natasha's eyes closed, and she sighed as their lips made contact. She wanted to take charge, to make him hurry, but restrained her impulses, letting James make all the moves.

In this moment, as his chest pressed her into the floor, and the chill of the stone at her back made her shiver, she was more conscious of him than even before. Conscious of his strength, and the innate charm and sensuality that hadn't been drugged or conditioned out of him. During her research, she felt his magnetism leaping out of photographs studied long into the night as she worked out what his state of mind would be at discovering his true identity.

James wanted more than a simple kiss from her. Much more. All the signs were there. And though she wanted to share that with him, now was not the time. He still had too many demons to exorcise, as did she.

Something of what she was thinking must have come through in their kiss because he suddenly pulled back, turning to kneel next to her. And for a space of time, they simply watched each other. Then James looked away in embarrassment. He stood and extended both hands to help her up, holding on longer than necessary, and Natasha thought he would kiss her again. She swayed toward him slightly to give him permission to do so.

Instead of taking her offer, he dropped her hands and moved back when a loud gust of wind slammed against the outer walls, rattling the windows and breaking the spell that had begun to weave itself around them.

The atmosphere, thick and tense, dissipated somewhat at the feel of the cold stone on the bottoms of her bare feet. Natasha returned to the living room to retrieve her socks and pull them on. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'm taking a walk before it gets dark."

He followed her toward the stairs, obviously intending to join her, stopping with a foot on the bottom step when the sound of the wind changed. Going into the kitchen, James stood in front of the windows and Natasha joined him a few seconds later. As if they'd choreographed it, they crossed their arms and huffed in annoyance because the snow had started falling. There wasn't enough of it yet to give the landscape that magical fairy kingdom look of which poets spoke. Just clumps here and there, and growing piles on the patio furniture.

James uncrossed his arms. "I'll bring in more wood for the fire."

Natasha followed suit. "I'll make hot cocoa."

For the rest of the night, and the days and weeks that followed, what had nearly come to pass was never mentioned, nor was the kiss repeated.

 **Several Months Later**

Winter had given way to spring and its promise of renewal and rebirth. Natasha and James had long since moved on from the amazing stone house in Arkansas, heading north to Missouri where they made a tidy sum at the gambling casinos in Branson They left town before the authorities caught on to their tricks, ending up outside of Aspen, Colorado.

There, Natasha had literally run into a mark from her time before joining SHIELD. He hadn't recognized her, but still, she thought it best to get out of town, just in case. And despite her promise to let James share in the decision making when it came time to go, she put her foot down just this once, insisting on traveling to a small town north of Alamogordo, New Mexico called Tularosa. From there, they would drive into the Lincoln National Forest to take up residence in a one and a half story home with an unusual feature for this part of the country: a widow's walk.

James glanced at her and back to the road. "Widow's walk?"

In the passenger seat, Natasha turned toward James as much as the seatbelt would allow. "It's a rooftop patio frequently found in nineteenth-century coastal homes. The wives of men who'd shipped out would watch for their husband's return. When they were lost at sea, the women would continue to watch for them dressed in their mourning clothes, hence the name widow's walk."

"Where are we meeting your contact?"

Pulling out her phone, Natasha called up the information and programmed it into the GPS system. "A coffee shop and diner called Café Olé, right off seventy before fifty-four."

Twenty minutes later, James parked the SUV and got out. He was staring through the shop's window, and the expression on his face said he was annoyed. "Are all your contacts men?"

Natasha saw where he was looking and grinned. She pointed to a woman sitting in the corner by herself. "That's our contact." Leading the way, Natasha greeted the woman with a smile. " _Dobroye utro_ , Finley."

The woman looked up from the book she was reading, brightening. She closed the book and stood, embracing Natasha. " _Dobroye utro_ , Natalia. Sit. I'll get you and your friend something to drink."

Finley was the kind of woman who went unnoticed unless she wanted to be. She was average height, with light brown hair down to the middle of her back, brown eyes, a voluptuous figure hidden under a skirt that flirted with her ankles, and a matching top belted at the waist. Natasha caught James watching Finley walking away, her hips swaying side to side, and nudged him with an elbow. "Eyes back in your head, pal. She's married."

James scowled at her and she pursed her lips to keep from grinning.

Thirty minutes later, the duo was headed down the highway toward Alamogordo. Following the GPS, they eventually turned east into the mountains, crossing an old wooden bridge. They arrived at their newest safe house before sunset barely ahead of a rain storm that hit just as they pulled up in front.

The covered front porch offered protection from the rain except for the occasional gust of wind. Natasha let them in, and James shut the door. The foyer opened into a good sized living area. Where the outside had been designed to blend into the surrounding, the interior was meant for comfort.

Windows flanked the brick fireplace at the far end of the room, with doors on the side walls that opened into other rooms. The floor was wood polished to a high gloss, the middle covered with a deep pile rug in a nautical theme as was, presumably, the rest of the home. To her relief, the liquor cabinet was fully stocked. A wood box huddled by the door that led to the back porch. Natasha lifted the lid and found it full.

On the opposite wall between a set of doors was a spiral staircase that could only lead to the widow's walk.

She dropped her bag on one of the sofas, and went exploring, leaving James to do the same. The door to the right of the fireplace opened into the master bedroom and ensuite. Here, as in the living room, the coastal theme prevailed. Not her favorite. She'd only been in the house a few minutes, and already it was getting on her nerves.

The door on the left in the foyer had been left ajar. There, she found a more inviting décor, meant for relaxation and contemplation. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with enough first editions to send a bibliophile into ecstasy. It even had a bay window with a padded window seat. A perfect place to curl up with a book and a cup of tea.

Across from the library, she found a walk-in closet, empty except for jackets, coats, boots, sweaters, and umbrellas. In short, outer wear for any and all seasons. It was here she found the usual weapons cache, secured with a fingerprint and DNA scanner. Finley had created a profile for Natasha and programmed it into the system. Pressing her thumb to the scanner, she waited through the authentication process. Once she was in, she added James to the database, just as she'd done at their last few stops. If he required the use of a weapon or had to call for back-up, he need only scan his thumbprint and speak the word "Ukulele". She saved the information and closed it up.

James joined her in the kitchen where she checked out the refrigerator and stand alone freezer. The pantry included enough canned food to get them through until they could hit the grocery store. The wine rack in the dining room offered a diverse selection of wines.

"Two bedrooms with a bathroom in between, and a laundry room that leads to the garage," James told her as he opened and closed the cabinets on both sides of the kitchen.

"There's another covered porch off the dining room, and a master bedroom with a private bathroom. Flip you for it." It was a token offering because James always insisted she take the larger of the bedrooms. "We can check out the widow's walk when the rain stops."

"Weather report says rain off and on for the next few days. We should go shopping tomorrow."

Natasha nodded. "Why don't you light a fire while I get dinner started?"

He left her alone, and she watched him go. Sometimes, when she least expected it, the amazing kiss they'd shard at the safe house in Hot Springs popped into her head. Part of her wished they'd taken the next step. But the larger part, the sensible and practical aspects of her personality, was glad they hadn't.

 **A Few Weeks Later**

Standing on the widow's walk, James huffed with annoyance. The rain had started several days ago and hadn't stopped except for a few minutes now and then, and would continue for the rest of the day. A report on the radio called for flash flooding for the next three days. It had already damaged the bridge they'd come across to get here. Their only option to get to town was to take the long way around, adding at least four hours to the trip each way. Huffing, he went back inside.

The fire was almost out so he added another log and stirred the embers. It flared to life again, casting a warm glow over the room. He brushed dirt from his hands while staring at Natasha's bedroom door. Since her return from the most recent raid, she spent most of her time either walking alone, in her room or in the library reading. Evenings, she sometimes joined him in watching a movie, but mostly she read, or whatever else she did in her room.

The kiss they'd shared in Arkansas was not repeated, and James got the feeling that she was distancing herself from him in order to prevent it from happening again. If this kept up, they'd have to talk because he missed the easy camaraderie they had before the revelation about Isolde. He'd come to terms with the fact that his child had perished with its mother so long ago. But still, he often wondered what that child would've been like, if he would've made a good father. What about a grandfather? By now, he could've had great-grandchildren as well, like Dugan.

The sound of movement in the library gave him Natasha's location. He went to the kitchen to make coffee then reconsidered. When she was feeling sad or introspective, she would have a glass of wine or a cup of hot cocoa.

He heated the milk, added the cocoa, squirted some whipped cream on top and carried it to the library. He rapped lightly on the door.

"Come in."

Natasha was sitting in the window seat covered with a small blanket, a book open in her lap. She smiled blandly at him, neither inviting nor off-putting.

"I brought you something to drink." She put her feet on the floor, and took the cup from him, using the spoon to give it a stir before taking a sip. Her eyes watched him over the lip of the cup as she pointed to the rocking chair, offering him a seat. So she wouldn't feel overwhelmed with him looming over her, he sat and just watched her watching him, the silence stretching until he felt compelled to fill it with sound beyond that of the rocking chair's creak. "Natasha…"

Her phone beeped to indicate she had a message. James had come to loathe that sound because it meant she would be leaving again. She sipped from the cup while scrolling the screen, inhaling sharply at whatever was displayed there.

Natasha took another sip of cocoa, and handed him the cup. James followed her to her room, watching her tap out a quick message. "I have to leave again."

"The bridge was damaged. How will you get to the pick-up site?"

"We need to talk about that." She went into her room, leaving the door ajar. " _The new intel has a much higher degree of accuracy than before_."

James leaned his back against the wall next to the door. "Which means?"

" _Stark believes he's located the scepter. We're meeting on-site_." Drawers opened and closed as she packed for the trip. " _Clint will be picking me up here_."

 **TBC**


	20. Chapter 43

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to ladygris and Lady Pandora for their input and opinions. No Beta the last few chapters so all mistakes are mine.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 43**

Natasha waited for James to comment, but he stayed silent. "James? Did you hear me?"

His feet shifted on the wood floor. " _Yes_."

Going to the closet, she took out her Black Widow jumpsuit, the new one with blue piping along the sleeves and down sides to her ankles. She and Clint would have to head directly for Sokovia. "Would you like to meet him?"

" _Thought you were in a hurry._ "

She snorted a laugh, and somehow that seemed to ease his anxiety. "It'll only take a moment. So is that a yes or no?"

Even through the wall, Natasha sensed that James wanted to say yes, but was reluctant to meet someone close to Steve. There was a long pause then, " _Yes_."

"If you're not comfortable doing this, it can wait."

He moved away from the door and back. " _It's something I need to get used to. Meeting new people._ "

The phone beeped again. "Get ready. He'll be here soon." Natasha zipped up the front of her suit, and sat on the bed to put on her boots. "The other raids were on the down-low. This one might attract more attention because of its location. The Avengers are big news these days."

" _Understood._ "

"Would you make a pot of coffee, and fix a cup for Clint and me? Both black."

" _Sure_." A sigh that sounded like relief came just before his footsteps moved in the direction of the kitchen. But was he relieved that their conversation was over, or because he now had something to keep him busy so he wouldn't think about what was coming? Whatever. If he could get through this without any major difficulties, then meeting the rest of the Avengers shouldn't be a problem, though Thor could be a little overwhelming. Stark too. With his easygoing personality, Bruce would be a snap.

In the bathroom, Natasha ran a brush through her hair then dropped it and other personal items into her bag and zipped it closed. She took the bag containing her weapons from the shelf in the closet. Seeing her reflection in the mirror as she strapped on the dual thigh holsters, she looked like an old west gunslinger preparing for a high noon shootout.

The Makarovs slid easily into their holsters, as did her boot knives into their accustomed places. She'd wait until they were almost to the rendezvous point to put on the K-bar and widow's bites.

Picking up both bags by their straps, Natasha carried them out to the living room and dropped them on the end of the sofa. Adjusting the sleeves of her suit, she followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. "Smells good."

James turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening slightly in the afternoon light filtering through the windows. Until that moment, she hadn't realized that he'd never seen her suited up. His gaze was a physical touch as he slowly and deliberately skimmed down the front of her body to her feet and made the return trip until he was looking into her eyes again.

Natasha took a step forward, causing James to take an involuntary step back. "Something wrong?"

His eyes stayed on her as he shook no. "Is that what you wear to… avenge?"

"This old thing?" She looked down at herself and back to James with a lopsided grin. "When you're a superhero, people expect you to dress the part."

~~O~~

James was saved from commenting by the beeping of the phone. Above that, he heard a whistling, roaring noise that signaled an incoming aircraft.

Natasha sighed and sent a response. "My ride's here. Let's go."

He followed her out through the back patio into the field. Looking up, he saw a silver aircraft come in for a smooth landing. The back hatch opened, and a brown haired man stepped out. He was shorter than James by a few inches, and dressed similarly to Natasha in leather with a dark red arrow-like insert on the chest. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp, shoved his thumbs in his belt and looked at Natasha in a way that James didn't like, though he wasn't sure why.

As she walked toward him, the man kept looking over her shoulder, eyeing James with an unreadable expression. They spoke quietly for a moment, the man's expression softening into what appeared to be affection when she handed him one of the coffee cups.

"James?" Natasha motioned him over with a smile. "Clint Barton, James Barnes."

James stopped next to her, letting his right arm brush against hers, nodding a greeting. Clint surprised him by smiling and stepping forward with his right hand out. "Barnes."

"Barton."

The men shook, bringing them within two feet of each other. Their eyes locked, and suddenly James had an instinctive almost primitive impulse to lash out, to punch Clint in the face and keep punching him. His left hand curled into a fist, and James could feel a rush of adrenalin as Clint stepped back. The urge to attack grew, became a creature living inside him about to burst free.

~~O~~

Watching Clint and James size each other up, Natasha could practically smell the testosterone in the air. She thought it funny until she felt the tension in James where his arm brushed against her, and it was increasing by the second. A split second before he would've leapt on Clint with the intention of ripping him to shreds, she took him by the hand and squeezed until looked down at her. "I'll be back as soon as possible. Once this crap with the scepter is over, we'll make the arrangements for your meeting with Steve. And Clint won't say a word, right?"

Clint's eyes returned to Natasha's. "I'm a vault." He aimed a thumb over his shoulder. "We gotta jet, Nat. Literally."

Before Natasha could move away, James let go of her hand, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her against his chest. Startled, she didn't resist when he leaned down to claim a kiss, holding it for a count of ten before releasing her. For a moment, she gazed at him in wide-eyed wonder, changing it to a glare that had sent more than one man scurrying for cover, yet he seemed to take it in stride, even flashing her a quick wink, just a brief closing of one eye.

Without a word, Clint went back inside the craft carrying Natasha's bags. She followed, turning at the top of the ramp. Their eyes met once more as the ramp raised. She was pissed, to say the least. They would be having a _long_ talk when she returned.

James backed away, his eyes the last thing she saw before the ramp closed. And in them, she saw no remorse for what he'd done.

Once they were in the air, Natasha sat in one of the jump seats, staring out the window and drinking her coffee, hoping to discourage conversation.

"What's going on, Nat?"

She should've known better. Clint seldom let anything go without comment, and that kiss was more that worthy of being noticed. Not just because it happened, but why. She'd felt the waves of jealousy mixed with aggression when the two men shook hands. As if the alpha wolf from rival packs were meeting for the first time, instinctive, and visceral. James had been about to beat the s*** out of Clint, and she couldn't let that happen. She wanted Clint and James to be friends, for James to know that no one could or would replace him in her life.

" _Not_ what you think."

Clint made adjustments to his instruments before responding. "Then why's he acting like he was challenging me to a duel for your affections?"

"He's acted on instinct for the last fifty years, having little or no social interaction with others in that time. It's been a process, and there have been setbacks, but he's coming around. Slowly." Natasha glanced sideways at him with a half-grin. "This was his first encounter with someone I consider a friend. And you _did_ come on a little strong."

He moved the mouthpiece out of the way so he could drink from the cup. "Just sizing him up to see if he's worthy of you."

"Worthy? We're _not_ sleeping together, Clint. What you saw back there was just…"

"Barnes marking his territory. I wouldn't be surprised if he does the same thing with Thor, Stark, Rogers, and especially Banner, once he finds out you were a couple." He reached back to take her hand and give it a squeeze. "You may not think of him as your mate, but it's apparent to anyone with eyes that, for him, you're The One. If you don't feel the same, it's better to tell him now rather than later."

Natasha shook her head. She couldn't think about this now. They had a mission. Their focus had to be on taking down the HYDRA stronghold and retrieving the scepter. "Drop it, Hawkeye. How long till we reach the rendezvous?"

"Thirty minutes, give or take." He adjusted their heading once more. "I'm not letting this go, Nat."

She huffed at him. "Don't make me call Laura."

There was a long, tense pause. "You _really_ fight dirty, don't you?"

 **Sokovia**

 **HYDRA Base**

Kneeling over Clint, Natasha held a piece of cloth to the wound in his side, and tapped her headset. "…We're locked down out here."

" _Then get to Banner. Time for a lullaby_."

Steve's voice crackled in Natasha's ear. Now they would see if the Other Guy still responded to her. She could hear him roaring and crashing through the forest. He was facing away from her, no doubt looking for something to smash. "Hey, Big Guy." The Other Guy turned toward Natasha with a grunt. A sliver of fear found its way in, and her mind flashed back to the helicarrier when he'd nearly killed her.

"Sun's gettin' real low." She got down on one knee, her left hand coming up, palm out. To her relief, he mirrored her, switching to palm up when she did. Keeping her movements slow and deliberate, she drew her fingers from the middle of his forearm to his fingertips. He stumbled backward, turned and grabbed a tree for support as he shrunk in on himself, his skin changing from green to Bruce's fair coloring. He lost his footing, landing in the snow, and curling into a ball.

Thor arrived to carry Bruce to the quinjet, and Natasha helped him dress and put on headphones. It was said that music soothed the savage beast, and though she wouldn't say that the Other Guy was savage or a beast, music did wonders for him followed a transformation. His favorite was _Casta Diva_ from Act I of the opera _Norma_.

Norma sings a prayer to the moon goddess, asking for peace. What is not known by the other Druids is that Norma has fallen in love with a Roman. She secretly hopes no war will be fought so that her lover will be safe.

Natasha couldn't hear the music herself, but she didn't have to. She knew the words by heart because she'd chosen it.

 _Casta Diva, che inargenti  
queste sacre antiche piante,  
a noi volgi il bel sembiante  
senza nube e senza vel…_

 _Tempra, o Diva,  
tempra tu de' cori ardenti  
tempra ancora lo zelo audace,  
spargi in terra quella pace  
che regnar tu fai nel ciel…_

All was going well with Bruce on the road to recovery from the unexpected Code Green, Clint had been set up with an IV, and Cho was preparing the lab to work on the archer's wound. Thinking it would help, Natasha said the one thing she shouldn't have. "Thor, report on the Hulk."

The Asgardian raised a fist, grinning in triumph. "The gates of Hell are filled with the screams of his victims!"

Natasha glared at Thor when Bruce put his head in hands and groaned as the Asgardian tried to backpedal. "But not the screams of the dead, of course. No, no… Wounded screams. Mainly whimpering, a great deal of complaining and tales of… sprained deltoids and, uh, gout," he finished lamely.

It didn't take long to return to Stark Tower where Helen Cho was already set up to take care of Natasha's best friend. If Clint had been killed, it would've been her responsibility to tell Laura and the kids, and she wasn't sure she would've been able to do it. To her relief, it turned out not to be necessary to find the words. She even found the spirit to tease him.

"You sure he's going to be okay? Pretending we need this guy is what keeps the team together." Natasha knew that Clint would find humor as well as a grain of truth to that statement. He winked at her while sucking down the nasty looking concoction Stark had made when Clint complained of being thirsty.

Among all the other things that worried at her, Natasha wondered what James was doing without her. This time, he had access to the SUV. Would he go into town on his own, or wait for her to return so she could give him guidance? Whatever he chose to do, she would be there.

~~O~~

Maria climbed the stairs at Steve's side. He wanted to hold her close for his own comfort, but now wasn't the time. They still had work to do. "The two enhanced?"

She handed him the tablet. "Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Twins. Orphaned at age ten when a shell collapsed their apartment building. Sokovia's had a rough history. It's nowhere special, but it's on the way to everywhere special."

Tired and trying not to show it, Steve asked, "Their abilities?"

"He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neuroelectric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation."

If Steve didn't know her as well as he did, he'd think she was using scientific jargon on purpose. He stared at her blankly as if to say "In English please?" And she responded with a silent huff. "He's fast and she's weird."

"Well, they're going to show up again."

"Agreed. File says they volunteered for Strucker's experiments. That's nuts."

Aggravated by her insinuation at he too was nuts for being involved in a similar experiment, Steve stepped into the lift, chose his floor, and faced front. "Right. What kind of _monster_ would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country?"

She leaned close, one hand holding the lift doors so they wouldn't close, keeping her voice low. "It's like you said. _You_ did it to protect your country, Steve. _They_ want revenge. Two different reasons with the same effect." A technician came by, and Maria stepped back. "We're not at war, Captain."

Maria was correct in her assessment. Cause and effect. Steve softened his expression and the harshness of his tone. " _They_ are."

The doors closed on Maria's frown.

~~O~~

Natasha sat in the back of the quinjet, staring at the bulkhead. Though she used meditation techniques to clear her mind, she couldn't help going over the events of the last few days. When she left the safe house, little did she know that the Avengers would come so close to being defeated by a home-grown enemy.

Through an unauthorized experiment on the scepter by Stark and Banner, a new threat to the world called Ultron emerged. He was the combined product of the scepter's Infinity Stone, Jarvis, and a dormant peacekeeper program Stark had created.

Ultron showed himself three days later at the party Stark threw to celebrate capturing the scepter, and had nearly killed them all, including Helen Cho.

The team eventually tracked Ultron to Wakanda, the country with the only deposits of vibranium in the world. There, Wanda Maximoff had messed with their minds, causing the Avengers to experience hallucinations that affected them emotionally, inundating them with disturbing visions of the past, taunting them with what might have been, and twisting their reality until it was unrecognizable. All but Clint. Natasha didn't know how he'd escaped Maximoff's manipulations, but they were glad that he did.

To give the team a place to hide and time to regroup, Clint made the decision to let the others in on a secret that only a select few knew: the existence of his wife and children.

Natasha had been almost catatonic when Clint had taken her on board the quinjet after Bruce's Hulk-out in Johannesburg. She wanted to comfort Bruce, who seemed have come through the event worse off than any of them, but she couldn't muster the energy to do so. And Natasha would likely still be wallowing in self-pity if not for Lila. When Clint's daughter asked, "Did you bring Auntie Nat with you?" the sound of the little girl's voice, so excited at the prospect of seeing her, Natasha had snapped out of it. At least enough to hug the girl, and interact with the others.

She'd watched Bruce as he climbed to the second floor to shower and change into the clothes Clint had given him. Somehow, she knew that he planned on taking off. When he came out of the bathroom, she was waiting for him, and managed to talk him out of leaving.

Ultimately, the Avengers had defeated Ultron and his army, and in the process, a new life was created. He called himself The Vision.

 _I am not Ultron. I am not Jarvis. I am… I_ _am_ _._

Without his help, and that of the Maximoff's, who had seen the error of their ways, the Earth would be devoid of all organic life. Nothing would've remained that wasn't made of metal.

"Yo, Nat. Wheels down in ten," Clint called out from the cockpit. "You gonna be okay? Want me to hang around a while?"

Putting on a smile, she came forward. "You have a family to get home to. And I'll be fine. I just need rest."

~~O~~

Sitting on the shore of a small lake, James watched the water undulating in the light breeze. The scent of the water and the visual effects helped lull him into a state of relaxation, to calm the turmoil of emotions after another of his disturbing dreams. He couldn't call them nightmares because he no longer woke up screaming. The flashbacks were coming less often as well, and weren't as intense. Now they were more like random memories hitting him at odd times. Through meditation and intense physical exercise, he was able to moderate their impact on his emotions. To keep them under control in social situations… hopefully. The only way to know for sure was to try it out. With Natasha there as a sort of buffer, he would know if the situation were getting out of hand.

When Natasha returned, he would suggest they go into town for dinner. He hadn't used any of the money they made in Branson, and he wanted to take her on a real date. Dinner, dancing, a walk in the park, whatever she wanted.

A familiar sound Dopplered through the sky. What did Natasha call the plane? A quinjet. That meant she was on her way home. He wondered if he'd see Clint again. Should he apologize to both for his reaction at their first meeting, or just let it go? Letting it go seemed the most logical answer. From what he'd observed in recent movies, men got into, what did they call them? Pissing contests all the time, though they didn't actually challenge each other to see who could piss the farthest. It was a metaphor for the natural aggression of human males.

James pulled on his socks and boots, tied the laces, and headed back to the house at a fast jog. By his calculations, he would arrive at the same time as the plane.

It banked around and landed closer to the house this time. Arms crossed, James waited impatiently or the ramp to lower. Natasha's feet rang on the metal as she slowly exited the quinjet. Instead of her black "superhero" suit, she wore slacks, a long sleeved shirt that was too big for her and a jacket. Her bags hung from her shoulder as if she'd forgotten they were there. When she looked at him, her eyes seemed out of focus, as if she were seeing him, yet not.

She started to walk past him without acknowledging his presence. He stopped her, holding onto her upper arms until her eyes focused on him. Her vacant stare, the sense that she wasn't completely aware of her surroundings, they spoke of an emotionally disturbing experience.

James left her standing on the patio as he ran up the ramp to confront Clint. Their eyes locked, and the anger swelled. But lashing out wouldn't get him the answers he wanted or needed. Taking several deep breaths, he was able to calm himself enough to ask, "What the hell happened?"

Clint's eyes flicked to Natasha still standing in the same spot where James had left her, and back to James.

"Some of it was on the news, but that's only a small part. Let her be for a while. Just be there for her when she's ready to talk."

"Was it something _you_ did?"

The other man snorted humorlessly, and shook his head. "I was the lucky one. All I can say is give her time. She'll come around eventually. You'll have to work out on your own when to push and when to back off." James nodded and turned away. He looked over his shoulder when Clint grabbed his arm, his eyes a dangerous shade of blue-gray. "I know how you feel about her, and I'm only going to say this once. If you hurt her, there will be nowhere on this planet you can hide from me or the Avengers. Got it?"

James nodded once, and the hand was removed. He ran down the ramp, and soon the quinjet was gone, lost in the clouds that hovered over the mountains.

He rejoined Natasha, taking possession of the bags, and taking her hand. She resisted at first, then followed him meekly into the house where he sat her on the sofa, set her bags on the bed in her room, and went into the ensuite to start a bath. He added her favorite bath salts, lit the candles, and turned on the music she liked to listen to.

In her bedroom, he laid out pajamas and a pair of socks. He put her clothes in the laundry basket, except for her catsuit. That, he hung in the closet, and dropped the boots and shoes on the closet floor.

James opened the second bag and found her weapons inside. He took out one of the wands and touched a button on the side. It lit up, humming with electrical power. He shut it off, put it back, and placed the bag on the top shelf of the front closet where the rest of the weapons were kept.

He went to the kitchen, poured a glass of the wine she liked, and put that in the bathroom as well.

Back in the living room, Natasha was still sitting in the same place, but had taken off her jacket and shoes. She looked up and smiled when he stopped in front of her. He held out a hand, and she took it, letting him lead her into the ensuite. Her fingers briefly tightened on his and let go. James left her alone when she grasped the hem of her shirt and started lifting it over her head, shutting the door behind him.

Crossing the living room to the kitchen, he set about making them both something to eat.

~~O~~

The door closed behind James with a soft click. Natasha sighed as she got undressed and slid into the warm scented water up to her neck. The one feature to recommend this safe house, besides the widow's walk, was the enormous tub. It was deeper than normal, and large enough to hold two people comfortably. Not that she intended trying it out. It just meant more room for her.

 **Thirty Minutes Later**

The music started grating on her nerves, the water was cooling, and her stomach was growling. Time to get out. James needed her, and she needed to be needed. Maybe being back here was the best way to sort out her jumbled emotions. She managed to keep it together through the fight in Sokovia, and during the first part of the clean-up. But now, with nothing to think about besides the vision Wanda had shown her, and taking care of James, long buried thoughts and emotions would intrude during sleeping and waking hours, and she would be helpless to prevent them.

Out here in the country where it was just the two of them, she might be able to get her head straight again. Oh, she could pretend in front of others, smile and joke around, give the guys a hard time, but the dark places would always be there, waiting, watching, preparing to pounce when she least expected it.

Standing wet and naked on the bathmat in front of the mirror, Natasha examined the bruises all over her body. Some were painful, others merely unpleasant to look at. With all the s*** that happened, she thought her muscles would be sore, and they probably would be tomorrow. That didn't worry her. Physical aches and pains were temporary. Emotional pains lingered for years. Sometimes forever.

Natasha found her hairbrush on the counter and smiled because James had been kind enough to unpack her bag. Her toothbrush was in the porcelain holder in the shape of a ship's anchor with the toothpaste next to it. She ran the brush through her hair, thinking about what Clint said when he picked her up, that James loved her. The more likely scenario was that James had fallen for her the way a patient sometimes has affectionate feelings for a medical doctor or therapist.

Deciding to just let the situation coast, Natasha slipped into the pajamas James had laid out, pulled on the socks, and went out to the living room. When she first came in, she hadn't noticed that James had rearranged the furniture in her absence.

One of the sofas now faced the fireplace with the armchairs angled so that a semi-circle had been formed. The end tables were placed in easy reach, and the coffee table had been cleared of all the nautical knick-knacks and magazines. In their place was a crystal vase with several early blooming flower buds and some interesting leaves still attached to twigs. Did he do it for himself or for her? And what happened to the other sofa?

The cabinet to the left housed the entertainment center: video games, television, Blu-Ray, stereo, and a selection of videos representative of several different genres of film and television. Plus there was Netflix and online games. It was on wheels so it could be moved to the optimal viewing location for the occupants. Natasha made herself comfortable and pulled the blanket over her lap as James returned with a tray.

"What really happened?"

"Can we talk about it later?" She covered a yawn, and James was at her side in an instant, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom. He held the covers up so she could get in, adjusted the pillows, and turned out the light, leaving her alone, though his footsteps didn't immediately retreat from outside her door.

 **Hours Later**

James shot to a sitting position on the sofa where he'd fallen asleep. He wanted to be close in case Natasha needed anything, though she'd likely get it herself rather than ask him to do it for her. That didn't mean he couldn't at least try to take care of her. She was mentally strong, stronger than anyone he'd ever known except Steve. But even the strongest substance had a breaking point. Just because you haven't found it yet didn't mean it wasn't there.

Something had awakened him. He listened carefully, hardly breathing as he tried to identify the sound. There! A small squeak. Barely discernable over the patter of the rain on the roof. Like the whimpering of a puppy taken from its mother too soon. He heard it once again, and realized it was coming from Natasha's room.

Slowly, James opened the door and stepped into the room, closing it behind him. There was little light, just the occasional flash of lightning to see by. He moved around till he could see Natasha's face. She was on her back, head turned to the side, her face pinched in fear or pain, he couldn't tell. One arm, the left one, was above her head near the bedpost. Her movements were odd, as if she believed she'd been chained to the bed. A few words were muttered he couldn't understand.

Getting down on one knee, James watched as a single tear escaped, leaving a wet trail over her temple into her hair. Taking hold of her wrist, he eased her hand down, and lay it on her stomach. As he got to his feet, that same hand reached out, hovering in the air. " _Nyet._ _Ne idut_."

He moved to the other side of the bed, hesitating a moment before lying down on top of the covers. In her sleep, Natasha rolled onto her side facing away from him. He took the hint and spooned her as close as the thickness of the blankets would allow. Soon, the restlessness calmed, and before long, he joined her in sleep.

James was awakened sometime after daybreak by the weak sun pushing its way through the windows. At first, he didn't know where he was, then he remembered. Natasha was still asleep on her side facing the closet. Taking care not to jostle her awake, he got out of the bed and went to the door, giving her one last lingering look before closing it behind him and returning to his room.

 **TBC**

 _Norma_ is a _tragedia lirica_ or opera in two acts by Vincenzo Bellini with libretto by Felice Romani after _Norma, ossia L'infanticidio_ ( _Norma, or The Infanticide_ ) by Alexandre Soumet. It was first produced at La Scala in Milan on 26 December 1831.

The opera is regarded as a leading example of the _bel canto_ genre and a major soprano aria, _Casta Diva_ , in act 1, is one of the most famous of the nineteenth century.

English translation for _Casta Diva_ :

Pure Goddess, whose silver covers  
these sacred ancient plants,  
we turn to your lovely face  
unclouded and without veil…

Temper, oh Goddess,  
the hardening of you ardent spirits  
temper your bold zeal,  
scatter peace across the earth  
thou make reign in the sky…

 _Nyet._ _Ne idut_. = No. Don't go.


	21. Chapter 44

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 2**

 **Chapter 44**

The boom of thunder awoke Natasha. She sat up on the side of the bed, reaching for her phone to check the time. On the way to the bathroom, she stretched sore muscles, twisting at the waist to get the kinks out of her back. As she changed clothes, she examined her body again, finding even more bruises, scrapes and cuts. Anyone who saw them would think she'd been beaten, and they wouldn't be far off.

The ones on her arms and knees were from the ride on the chamber as it flew through the air and landed in Clint's quinjet. Before she could close the hatch, one of Ultron's robot army had grabbed her and flown away. With no concept of how to handle a human, the machine had knocked her out by flying too high, too fast. When she regained consciousness, she was lying on the cold, stone floor of Ultron's lair. And while he'd eschewed detailing his plans for the extinction of humanity on the ship in Wakanda, he'd obviously changed his mind now that she was his prisoner and incapable of mounting an attack or calling for help, as far as he knew.

Ultron had locked her in a cage, and an unknown amount of time later, he'd taken off, leaving her alone. She sent a distress call to Clint, and soon, the sounds of fighting increased as her teammates engaged Ultron and his army. Then, Bruce had come along to rescue her, suggesting that they just disappear and leave the others to fight.

Though they weren't a couple any longer, Natasha still cared about Bruce. She'd given him a kiss and pushed him into the pit. " _I adore you, but I need the Other Guy… Now go be a hero._ "

When the fight was over and the last of Ultron's robot bodies had been destroyed by Vision, Natasha had contacted the Other Guy in the quinjet, but before she could tell him how to shut off the cloak, he disconnected the comm. And because it was cloaked, they couldn't track it.

So much had been lost that day. Quicksilver had died saving Clint and a young boy, not to mention the cost in civilian lives. And now one of her best friends was missing in action. Unless Bruce contacted them, they had no way of knowing if he'd survived the crash of the quinjet, wherever that might be. Fury would keep her updated on the progress of locating Bruce, and maybe, one day soon, one of the team would receive a post card in the mail. Out loud, she whispered, "Wish you were here."

In the bedroom, she took out clean clothes and got dressed. The smell of coffee drifted past her nose as she went out to the living room. James must've known she was awake because he was standing at the stove scooping food onto plates. The table was set, and as she slid into her seat, he placed a cup of coffee in front of her, followed by a plate of food, bacon and French toast. His favorite, but she didn't care. She wasn't really hungry, but he'd taken the time to cook, and she felt obligated to consume the fruits of his labors.

~~O~~

James brought his plate and coffee to the table, taking the seat to Natasha's left. He bit off a piece of bacon, all the while watching Natasha from the corner of his eye. Though she gave the appearance of enjoying her meal, he could tell it was for his sake and not because she was hungry.

He didn't know what could've happened that would make someone like her, someone strong in body, mind, and spirit cease enjoying life. People needed time to deal with trauma, whether physical or emotional. Some developed PTSD, and others simply went on with their lives as if the trauma was just a bump in the road. Natasha had been there for him when the dreams and flashbacks got to be too much. He could do no less for her.

Natasha put down her fork and picked up the coffee cup, sipping while staring off into space. She got up to pour herself another cup and moved over to the window, taking the occasional sip as she watched the rain falling.

The field behind the house was so saturated it couldn't take any more, and once again, flash flooding was being forecast for the area, especially in the mountains where they were. Fortunately, the house sat on a rise, and most of the water drained around it toward the creek. If James had to guess, he'd say that the rest of the bridge would be gone the next time they headed that way.

"Natasha?" She looked over at him, one eyebrow raised in question. He held up her plate from which she'd only taken a few bites.

"It's good. I'm just not hungry." Draining the last of her coffee, she handed him the cup. "I'm going to the library to read."

Later, when lunchtime rolled around, James knocked on the library door to ask what Natasha wanted for lunch. He found her asleep in the window seat covered with a blanket and her book on the floor. He picked up the book and set it on a shelf and left her alone. He came back into the room when she hadn't come out by dinner time. She awoke when he touched her shoulder, sitting up and looking around as if she'd no idea where she was or how she got there.

"I'm making dinner."

Natasha yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I'm not hungry. Think I'll just go to bed."

James watched her go into her room and close the door, sad on her behalf for everything that had happened the last few weeks. All he knew about the incident was what had been broadcast on the news. The cynical side of him knew for certain that what had been reported was either a fraction of the story, or the public had been outright lied to. The events in that small nation on the other side of the world had been blamed on a highly destructive earthquake caused by the eruption of what had previously been a dormant volcano to the east.

Taking Clint's advice to heart, James left Natasha to herself, certain she'd come to him when she was ready to talk. What he didn't realize-and who could blame him-was that this day set a precedent for the days and weeks that followed.

~~O~~

For once, Natasha's sleep was dreamless, and she was thankful not to have the Avengers' fight with Ultron and his robot warriors, the battle with the Chitauri or visions of the Red Room replaying endlessly in her head night after night. She rolled over, pulled the covers up to her neck, and had just drifted off again when there was a knock at her door. "Yes?"

" _Breakfast is ready_."

James really was sweet to do all the cooking until she was fully rested. "Just a few more minutes."

There was a long pause. " _Okay_."

His footsteps faded, and as she was about to doze off again, there came another knock, more impatient this time. Annoyed, she called out, "What?"

" _Time to eat_."

What was it with James knocking on her door every couple of minutes? "I'll be out in a bit."

" _Five minutes_."

Pulling the covers over her head, Natasha rolled onto her other side, curled into a ball, and went back to sleep. Soon, she began to dream about Bruce, smiling and holding out a hand, his face alight with excitement.

 _Wish you were here, Natasha. The water in Fiji is clear as glass, and the sand is white as the first snow of the season. You'd_ _love_ _it. No worries. No schedule. We can do what we want when we want_.

She wanted to join him, yet each time she reached out, he moved farther away, his gentle voice urging her to hurry.

 _Come on! Everyone's here. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Hill, Rhodey, Sam, Thor, Vision, Wanda, Pietro, Helen Cho, Madame B, the Other Guy. Clint even brought Laura, Cooper, Lila and baby Natasha. We're all waiting for you_. Bruce stepped out of the way so she could see her friends frolicking on the beach and in the water. A volleyball game was in progress with Pietro playing on both sides. The Hulk sat in the sand playing with the children. Clint and Stark where building an epic sand castle.

 _But Clint's youngest child is a boy they're naming Nathaniel._

 _Pietro? How could he be there? He died saving Clint's life._

 _And why would Madame be in Fiji? She hates the beach._

 _How can the Other Guy be here, Bruce? What's going on?_

Bruce shoved his hands in the pockets of his knee length shorts, shrugging sheepishly. Then, he was gone, and Natasha found herself standing alone at the water's edge, the waves lapping at her feet, and no other person in sight. Just trees, sand and water as far as the eye could see.

Suddenly, the wind went from a light breeze to gale force so quickly that she could no longer stand upright without support. Grabbing onto the trunk of a tree, she turned her face from the rain pelting her in the face, and soaking her to the skin. It went in her mouth and nose, choking her.

Natasha let go of the tree and turned to run, lashing out when a pair of arms grabbed her around the waist and turned her into the rain again. Using her legs, she knocked her attacker off balance, and she landed on top of him, but before she could defend herself, he picked her up and pushed her back against a wall, hands held next to her head in a strong grip she was unable to break.

Now the water was coming from the side. She wrenched her left hand free and reached for the K-Bar, but it was gone, as where her Makarovs and widow's bites. Then she felt tile under her bare feet where there had been sand only a moment ago.

The hands holding her gentled and let go, framing her face. The fingers of one hand brushed the wet strands of hair from her cheek. She blinked water from her eyes. The face hovering in front of her was familiar. Wavy shoulder length dark hair, blue eyes. But Bruce had curly hair with a few grays, and brown eyes.

"Natasha? Speak to me. Please, _malenkaya_. Can you hear me?"

 _Bruce doesn't speak Russian_ , Natasha thought curiously.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it appeared. Fiji faded to a pinpoint, disappearing with a pop. Natasha shivered when cool air hit her wet skin. The hands holding her head moved away. A pair of strong arms lifted her high, the swaying movement an unfamiliar sensation. She laid her head on the strong shoulder by her head, feeling a heartbeat thumping a steady rhythm under her palm. Sliding that hand up and around the neck of the person carrying her, she felt wet hair touching the back. With a sigh, she snuggled closer to the warmth pressed against her side.

Then, this new person set her on her feet. A towel was tossed over her head as hands rubbed at her scalp. Those same hands urged her to lift her arms, and her wet top was removed. The towel dried her upper body then her wet bottoms were removed and her lower half dried as well.

Within seconds, Natasha was dressed in dry clothes, and a pair of warm socks was on her feet. Someone took her hand and led her to the living room where a fire raged in the fireplace giving the room a cozy feeling. She was left alone for a moment then her companion was back. He picked her up again and sat down holding her close. A blanket was wrapped around them like a cocoon. "Natasha?"

"Hmm?"

A hand smoothed the still damp hair from her face. " _Malenkaya?_ Look at me."

The voice was familiar and commanding. Tilting her head back, Natasha looked into those blue eyes filled with apprehension. "James?" She pressed her palms against his chest, putting distance between them. "What's going on?"

He moved her off his lap to the sofa, tucking the blanket snuggly around her. Without responding, James went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea. Sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her, he urged her to drink. The heat and caffeine in the tea spread to all parts of her body, clearing her mind and bringing her surroundings into focus. "Were we just in the shower together with our clothes on?"

~~O~~

James had to do something to snap Natasha out of this state of inertia she'd been in for over a month. Clint tried to help through texts and emails, and James had looked up her symptoms online.

What she needed was a jolt to her system, something that would force her to respond. He could Taser her, but didn't think it would be a good idea under the circumstances.

An idea came to him, and he went into Natasha's room without knocking, tossed the covers off, scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the glass walled shower in the ensuite. She refused to stand, so he got in the shower with her and turned on the cold water. At first, she turned her face from the water, mumbling something about Fiji. Eventually, he put her down, and she started trying to get away from the spray, turning her head side to side and wrapping her arms around his waist.

She released him, and started fighting back, apparently thinking he was attacking her. James turned as they fell backwards to keep her from being hurt. On their feet again, he saw the intent in her eyes to hurt him before she could produce the actions. He grabbed her wrists and pressed her against the wall of the shower. She wrenched her left hand free, using it to search for weapons she didn't have. James framed her face with his palms, forcing her to look at him. He pushed the hair out of her face, speaking softly. "Natasha? Speak to me. Please, _malenkaya_. Can you hear me?"

She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, and nodded. He turned the water off, picked her up and carried her out to the bedroom, forcing her to stand in front of him while he dried her hair. He didn't hesitate to strip off the wet clothes and dry her body before dressing her again.

Leading her out to the living room, he let go of her hand, and rushed to his room to change. He was back within a couple of minutes to find her still standing where he'd left her. Picking her up, he sat on the sofa with her on his lap and draped the blanket over both of them to combine their heat.

Natasha stirred against his chest. Again, he pushed the hair from her face, keeping his voice soft, yet firm. "Natasha? _Malenkaya_. Look at me."

At the sound of his voice, she pushed back to look him in the face. "James? What's going on?"

Setting her on the sofa, James made sure she was covered with the blanket before going into the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. When the tea was nearly gone, she looked right at him for the first time in weeks, giving him a curious glance, and her next question filled him with relief and a touch of humor.

"Were we just in the shower together with our clothes on?"

~~O~~

"What do you remember?"

"I was… I was dreaming about Fiji. Why?"

Instead of responding to her question, James asked one of his own. "Are you hungry?"

For an answer, Natasha's stomach growled, and she grinned. "I could eat."

He was gone in an instant, the clattering of pans and utensils coming from the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a tray, placing it over her lap. James had been cooking again. This time it was beef stew, a hot buttered biscuit, and more tea. The scent of the food made her stomach growl again. She scooped up a spoonful of the stew and ate it, finding it surprisingly good. Not too much salt, a hint of garlic and black pepper, carrots, onions, celery, potatoes and chunks of tender beef. "Mmm. You've been practicing."

James watched her eat for a few minutes, an odd expression on his face. Concern and worry, if she had to guess. "You're not eating?"

"Of course." He left and came back with a bowl, biscuit and tea for himself, taking a seat in one of the armchairs where he could see her.

When Natasha was done eating, she wiped her mouth and laid the napkin on the tray. James jumped up to take it away, and came back with a small slice of cherry pie. He resumed his seat, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, still with that odd look in his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"What happened in Sokovia? The truth."

Natasha cut off a piece of pie and ate it, thinking over how to begin. The cherries and crust were slightly warm, sliding easily down her throat. After a sip of tea, she used the fork to poke at the pie, avoiding looking at him. "It's a long story, if you're ready for it." James nodded. The shades on the doors leading to the patio were open to let in the light. But something wasn't quite right. The sun was too bright, and there were flowers blooming in the back garden where none had been the day before. "What have the news agencies been saying?"

"Same as when it first happened. Volcano caused an earthquake. The Stark Relief Organization is still on the scene. But it's becoming old news."

She snorted a laugh. "It's only been a few days. It's not like the media hounds to let it go so quickly."

His eyes darted to the side and back. "It's been more than a few days."

Drawing her eyebrows together over her nose, Natasha looked for indications that he was about to spring the punch line of a joke, but he didn't even twitch. "I don't understand. Clint dropped me off yesterday."

"No, he didn't." His feet shifted and he clasped his hands together. "It's been five weeks since Clint brought you home, Natasha."

"If this is a joke, Barnes, it's not funny." Throwing the blanket aside, she went to stand in front of the fireplace as she rubbed a hand up and down her bicep.

James came to her side and handed her the phone. She took it, intent on proving him wrong. Then she saw the display. "This can't be right."

The date displayed was just two days short of five weeks since the Avengers fought Ultron. Her email account showed several hundred unread emails. There was almost that many texts, the majority of which were from Clint to James. Steve and Hill's names were in there too. Missed calls? She didn't even want to think about it.

Scrolling through the texts, she saw that James had been seeking advice from Clint on what to do for her. He said she was sleeping all day and night, eating infrequently, and only when forced to. On many occasions, James had to take her to the bathroom like a child. If he took her out of the house, she would wander off the moment he turned his back, and when she did stay, she would sit, hands in her lap, and stare into the sky.

Natasha shoved the phone at James, and he took it, following her into her bedroom. In front of the full length mirror, she turned to the side, and pulled down the waistband of her pajamas. The skin of the left hip was unblemished except for the gunshot scar. She found that the bruises and cuts on her forearms were gone as well.

She pulled her shirt up and turned to look at her back. Again, nothing marred the smooth skin. Her injuries couldn't have healed overnight, but how could James be telling the truth? Had she really lost _five weeks_ of her life?

~~O~~

When she first returned home, James just went along with whatever Natasha wanted to do, thinking once she was fully recovered, their life would go back to normal. That she'd work things out for herself if he was patient. After a week or so of letting her be, he tried taking her for walks, but she'd turn around and go back to the house. She'd sit on the sofa or in the library, and either stare out the window with a book on her lap or fall asleep again.

Even with his limited knowledge and experience, James could tell that the combination of the battle and the emotional trauma Clint only hinted at had sent Natasha into a depression. Clint offered to come and help. However, when James was told that his wife had given birth a few weeks early, he declined, asking him to communicate by text.

Maybe James shouldn't have waited so long to take matters into his own hands. But what's done is done.

As the weeks went by, nothing changed. Natasha slept her days away, only eating once a day, if that. Many nights, he found her wandering around the house in the dark. When asked what she was looking for, she'd say she couldn't find the bathroom. As if she were a small child, James would take her by the hand and lead her to the ensuite, wait while she did her business, and take her back to bed.

A few times, she'd crawled into bed with him the middle of the night, curling up next to him and calling him _plyushevyy mishka_ , teddy bear. When she went back to sleep, he would carry her back to her room.

Twice, he found her standing on the patio staring at the moon humming a tune he didn't know. When asked what she was doing, Natasha would say, "Singing to the stars."

Now, at long last, she was truly awake, and aware, participating in conversations, and showing interest in what was going on around her, talking, asking questions, and expecting answers.

" _Five weeks_?" James nodded. Natasha returned to the sofa, pulled her knees to her chest and covered herself with the blanket. "And you've been taking care of me all this time?"

"Clint helped." He picked up the phone where she'd laid it on the table, scrolled until he found what he wanted, and handed it back. "Said to show you this."

It was a photo of a baby not more than three weeks old, bald headed, and wearing an outfit with the name Nathaniel Pietro Barton on the front.

"They named him after Pietro." Natasha's smile was happy and sad at the same time. "And I missed it."

"Who's Pietro?"

She leaned forward to put the phone on the table. "He was the young man who saved Clint's life, though I'm certain he hadn't planned on dying for it." There was a long moment of quietude then Natasha scooted into the end of the sofa with her knees up. James got up to cover her with the blanket again, and she took his hand, silently asking him to stay with her. "The base in Sokovia had a much larger defense force than we anticipated…"

 **Early Evening**

"…With the cloak turned on, we weren't able to track where the quinjet went down." Natasha started to take a drink of tea, finding the cup empty. She put the cup on the table and stretched her legs out barely touching James' thigh. While they'd been talking, the sun had set and it was dark out. "I looked through my messages. They still haven't found Bruce or the quinjet."

James patted her foot. "I'm sorry."

"Thor went back to Asgard, Clint to his farm, Steve, Stark, Rhodey, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Cho are most likely at the new training facility Stark talked about building outside of D.C. And we're here."

He took a deep breath and let it out. "Do you regret staying here with me?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Sometimes, it's like you want to be somewhere else."

Shaking her head, Natasha poked him with her foot. "If I wanted to be somewhere else, I wouldn't be _here_." He seemed to accept what she said as the truth. That was good, because she wouldn't lie. Not about this. "I've been doing all the talking. Now it's your turn. What did you do while I was gone?"

James looked at her then away, but not before Natasha saw a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes, thinking nothing of it until his next words, said in an offhand blasé tone.

"I had a party the night you left that lasted for three days. We had a live band, played video games, drinking games, and went skateboarding off the roof. Someone drove the SUV into the lake, and the fire department had to drag it out."

Struck speechless, and her eyes wide with disbelief, Natasha stared at James for a long moment, deciding he was having one over on her, so she went along. "And the other sofa?"

"Used it to start a bonfire."

When James looked up this time, she saw it. The same devil-may-care grin he'd worn before the war. Before he died and was brought back by HYDRA. Before he was turned into the Winter Soldier.

Over the months they'd been together, James had faked the grin on many occasions. But this time was different. This time it was real, coming from that place inside he told her was dead and buried long ago. She stared at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Then, he raised one eyebrow, and she burst out laughing.

Leaning back, one arm over the back of the sofa, James held on as long as he could, until he too began laughing. At first, just the shaking of his shoulders. Then, when he couldn't hold it in any longer, he sat back and laughed.

The hilarity tapered off and came to an end. Still, they kept shooting each other cheeky grins. James picked up his cup, and when he reached for hers, she touched the back of his hand. He looked at her and she smiled. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh. You should do it more often."

For a moment, he looked confused, as if it hadn't occurred to him. Natasha withdrew her hand and he turned away. She was thinking about going to the library for her book when he came back and stood in the front of the fire that was almost out. "What did you _really_ do while I was gone?"

James shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. It was obvious he didn't think it was important enough to talk about. "Not much."

There was something he wasn't telling her, but she wasn't up to an interrogation. "Thanks for listening, and for the laugh."

"You're welcome."

Natasha went to the library for a book, and returned to sit on the sofa with the blanket over her. She couldn't keep her mind on the story though, requiring something more stimulating than _To the Lighthouse_ by Virginia Woolf. There was little dialogue and no action, with most of the novel written as thoughts and observations. How it got on the list of the top one hundred English-language novels of the twentieth century, she was at a loss to understand. She closed the cover with a snap, and laid it on the coffee table with a sigh.

Pulling at the waistband of her pajamas showed the amount of weight she'd lost in the missing time. She couldn't have gotten much exercise either. Tossing the blanket aside, she stood up to stretch, feeling her muscles pull from lack of use.

Her memories of the time she was out of it were sketchy, teasing her with brief flashes of scenes that made no sense. It made her wonder if this was how Bruce felt after a Code Green, weak, disoriented, fearful. Too bad he wasn't around so they could commiserate together.

Going to the entertainment center, Natasha turned on the Tai Chi music, moved to the center of the room, and began her routine. From the corner of her eye, she saw James coming out of the kitchen. He stood for a moment watching her movements, then joined her.

Over the next couple of weeks, Natasha eased back into her exercise routine with James' help. She wasn't a hundred percent yet, but was well on her way.

One night, after a long walk down to the bridge to check on the repairs, Natasha opened the patio doors to ventilate the room so she could clean her weapons. James was off doing whatever he did when he wasn't with her.

She was just finishing with the luster cloth when James came around in front of her holding the remote. "How about a movie or some music?"

"Sure. You choose." The Makarov was returned to the case with its twin, and placed out of the way with the cleaning kit.

He set the remote aside, crossed to the entertainment center, and turned on the stereo. The station he tuned it to announced that it played a variety of music from several genres spanning nearly a hundred years. It was all upbeat for the most part, with the occasional sad love song thrown in to keep it from getting boring.

A trumpet solo came on that Natasha recognized. James did as well to go by the excitement on his face. He tossed the blanket out of the way, pulled her to her feet, and led her to the open area in front of the fireplace.

Holding her in the classic dance pose, he counted the beats then went right into a fast-paced swing dance to _Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy_. He kept the steps simple, and she appreciated it because she hadn't danced like this in some time.

 _He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way.  
He had a boogie style that no one else could play.  
He was the top man at his craft,  
but then his number came up and he was gone with the draft.  
He's in the army now. He's blowin' reveille.  
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B._

James released one hand to swing her out and back, then in a circle, and into his arms again, making her laugh.

 _They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam.  
It really brought him down because he could not jam.  
The captain seemed to understand  
because the next day the cap went out and drafted a band.  
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille.  
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B._

~~O~~

Just seeing the delight on Natasha's face after weeks of blank stares thrilled James. He spun her under his arm twice. It made her laugh, and he would gladly dance with her for hours just to hear that sound again.

The song came to a big finish as he pulled Natasha into his arms and leaned her back into a shallow dip.

When he tilted her upright again, the hand on his shoulder was clenched in the material of his shirt, the ends of her nails digging in slightly along the edge of his prosthesis. He could feel it, yet he couldn't. More of a pressure than actual feeling.

She grinned and poked him in the chest with one finger. "I didn't know you could dance like that."

James shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't remember until I heard the song." The DJ made a commercial announcement then another song came on, the tempo slow and easy. They went into each other's arms as if they'd been doing it forever.

Natasha's hand stroked his shoulder, giving him a small jolt when her cool fingertips touched his neck and slid upwards a fraction of an inch into his hair. James pulled her close, his left hand resting on her waist moving in toward her spine eliciting a small gasp when his metal hand accidentally touched the skin of her back. She didn't complain or move away, so he left it there. A moment later, her warm breath hit him on the side of the neck.

The song ended, and James moved back to look into Natasha's eyes. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and her lips parted as she rose up on her toes to kiss him.

~~O~~

As they slowly parted their lips, Natasha moved her hands to either side of James' head, pushing her fingers into his hair, their eyes meeting again. The long strands tickled the back of her hands as they kissed again. This one had passion and fire and yearning, all begging to be let free.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended when James grabbed her upper arms and moved her back. Natasha looked up at him, confused by his reaction. Taking hold of her wrists, he gently removed her hands, and stepped back.

They watched each other for several moments, barely breathing. Then James picked up the phone, using his thumb to scroll. "It's Clint. I should have sent him an update hours ago."

He shoved the phone at her and she took it while holding his gaze until he turned away. She read the text, tapped out a response as James went into the kitchen. There was a moment of silence then she heard the door to his bedroom click shut.

If James had stayed until she finished the text to Clint, what would she have said? Would they have taken the next step? And if they had, then what? Their lives were hardly the stuff of which dreams were made. _More like nightmares._

Natasha shut down the phone as she took a wine glass from the cabinet and filled it from the bottle in the refrigerator. Moments later, she stood in the middle of her bedroom holding the glass in one hand and the phone in the other, wondering how her life had gotten so off track.

 **TBC**

 **A/N:** This is the end of Part 2. The first chapter of Part 3 will be posted in a few days, or whenever my Beta finishes reading it. Ya'll come back now, ya hear? ;-)

 _Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy_ was a major hit for The Andrews Sisters, and an iconic World War II tune.

 _To the Lighthouse_ is a 1927 novel by Virginia Woolf. The novel centers on the Ramsays and their visits to the Isle of Skye in Scotland between 1910 and 1920.


End file.
